#dostoevsky
Probably at a strange, helpless stage in life,
Trying hard to mend the strife.
Feels like being lost in a cage,
With a heart yielding unlimited rage.
Lost in oblivion, starting to self-doubt,
Wondering: am I chasing clout?
So I throw up my fist,
In a hope to comprehend life’s gist.
Talk to me in signs and prayers,
So I know my paths are aligned and I can understand the layers.
~RitzWrites 🌹
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 10:01 AM UTC
I am damaged goods
A corruption of heart
Up from abyssal depths,
Down to desolate clouds.
The fragment lying between
I am not the incessant air,
A rage of non awakening.
Culmination of all fears.
No words do then, describe
me; I do not conform to rules.
Exception I am; ambiguous
A regular consonantal fool ?
Decreed to consume it all
I carry a ravenous thirst.
Unchecked; I grow fervor
A demon, I am accursed.
Where, then, do I find home
Where does my soul belong ?
Whom shall I call my tribe
Then; what do I, thus long ?
I am damaged goods, get ye'
I do not conform to codes.
I belong to the nether realm
Let me lie, in my .. abode.
Do not then, exhume me,
I have chosen to slither in. And,
Lie dormant in the underground.
Where exist I may, in quiet
Lie hidden away, from the
carnal realm, I want none of it.
A monster of my own making,
A necromancer of the Undead.
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 2:54 PM UTC
“Don’t consider my words the sick
ecstasy of a sick mind, but you are
for me perfection!”
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot
I remember
I can taste blood
on the roof of my mouth
I remember her face the first time
I asked her to coffee
when it rippled in a minor
hemorrhage of surprise
like the request was unexpected
but maybe
I hoped
hoped for
holding fiery cider in her hand
she was word and color transfused
when she spoke
she was celluloid and strawberry blond
and her smile looked like water
racing over rubies and the years
that I had waited
to meet someone like her
her hair was tied back
in a hurricane of dim gold
her voice spun out veins of thought
fluid and manic as magma
but brilliant like serrated ice
I remember
the cardial whiplash
when she said she would like to do this again
the sanguine dreams that came
after giddy toss and turning
turned to sleep
the saccharine thought
that I might be with her
suddenly washing away
leaving only the clean sting
from the bluelit photograph
of her having coffee somewhere else
my sheets grew thicker
as I stared
I did not blink
I just drank in cold acceptance
of the stranger staring back beside her
as the palpitating hope stopped
and the sunk aorta darkened
there were no feelings
save the ones that
I remember
I can still taste blood
on the roof of my mouth
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
Dostoevsky dreams
And Pushkin lines
And rhymes...
Like Bolshevik bullets
Tear into me
Seething
Hot sleep!
Dead Tsars and Anastasia
Mean nothing to me
But I miss them
Sometimes...
Aristocratic nonsense
But tiaras are pretty
With diamonds shining
In a Russian night
As kulaks die
The diamonds glitter
A worthy reminder
Of a beautiful time
When debutantes danced
And the little Tsarina
Could dream in peace
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
She was that Chekhovian girl
who fell for Dostoevsky
and Camus and Sartre
and
you.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
Dogma U
Up the slide
Let's go for a ride
Start at the middle
Slip and slide
Down into Hades ...
U amGod
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC