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Message from Writer

Books I have wrapped my heart around:
°The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
°The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
°Life of Pi by Yann Martel

what's ingrained in our memory

July 10, 2020


 why do multi-coloured prints fade into sepia dust covered smiles/ while their lips speak millions of lies and cover-ups coated in sticky vanilla frosting/ their ignorant cackles and high self view weaves together other's admiration / as if their golden earring never pinned down our landline mid-condolences-not-yet-dead-conversations/ 
 their voice is forever stranded in our complexes unfolding with every piece of glass adorning/ the weariness in our eyes/ we taste throat wrenching bitter cries of memories wrongly classified as/ magenta night breaths and violins swirling around our flower waists/ beneath blueberry bubblegum sidewalks are young, way too young smoking eyes closed in horror/ so sad/ so incredibly sad
 a gap between our teeth to let their misleading pretty words blow through/ right until our lungs pump and pull and push/ the last tad of 'we are capable of being loved, we really are' out of our system/ draw us a river of takes that didn't make the final cut/ and we'll kiss the colour out of every last dot/ we'll make sure no one gets forgotten in our colliding stream of pencil lines and expired exquisite fine pitch dark ink/
 again we trace the pictures of our demolished childhood cottage and we are left with stained dirt on our fingertips/ humid 'no one will understand this' summer mosquitos and cold bathroom tiles suffering under flickering led lamps/ our drenched shadows distorted on the rotting wooden bedroom door/ their whispers hide in our navy blue baseball cap we used as a secret-holding pillow for years on end/ for so many haunting starless nights of our life/ 
 blows of heavily sprinkled wrists with eau the cologne make our minds falter for a second of never non-existing knowledge of/ nothing that can be said/ those wilting rose bottles have long been emptied/ and cristal smokes of the past on are dying on their clothes/ but we know that the past will always stay within our damaged minds/ in the blurred mirror on our nightstand/ in the candles lit in our burning hair/ in the moon leading us to crescent horrids/ in the clock tilting our decapitated hopes/  and in the carefully formed words leaving our cracked lips/ soothed with sticky vanilla frosting/ 
notice how in the end we became just like them//


See History
  • July 10, 2020 - 6:00pm (Now Viewing)

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  • BlueOwl

    this is inSANELY good!!! The smooth rythm is in harmony with the simplicity yet harshness of the words! Stunning work! Congrats!

    4 months ago
  • chrysanthemums&ink

    goSH i've had this bookmarked for way too long but finally read this and this is just... need to reread bc i feel like i missed too much. simply stunning, and i love the.... disjointed-ness of it? the way you use words to create that perfect imagery, it's simply magnificent. the diction, the language, that ending line i... i'm in awe. whoa, this piece is amazing. <33

    5 months ago
  • Doodleninja

    fave line: "we'll make sure no one gets forgotten in our colliding stream of pencil lines" you strike yet again with your extraordinary imagery and metaphors
    I especially loved the theme behind all this too!
    I agree with AutumnRain, you could probably split this up into more sections so that it's easier on the eye :)

    5 months ago
  • birthdaycandles

    gorgeous writing eblinn! my favourite line is “magenta night breaths and violins swirling around our flower waists“
    so poetic and floral and magical and dreamy!
    I would suggest that you maybe split up the piece into stanzas/paragraphs and add breaks between each section because it would be more appealing to the eye to read if it were split up, because sometimes big blocks of writing can be intimidating to read for some people.
    otherwise, this piece is great!

    5 months ago