melancholyviolets

United States

formerly sc3n3-b3an
a place to express feelings
not here to fight about politics, just to write

Message from Writer

"Write what should not be forgotten." - Isabel Allende
"Pulvis et umbra sumus (We are but dust and shadows)"- Horace

Published Work

why?

days blend into days
time is but a construct
the news doesn't change
but the world is 
and i don't like it
and maybe i'm getting hung up on minor things
a sweater caught on a splinter
the longing for a smile
i can't even remember your voice
i don't want to think too deep
because there's not an escape from those waters
not anymore
because the life ring is gone
 

i still can't forget

it's still carved into the dock.
the name of  certain british actor we all used to worship
and then it happened.
i don't know what that it was
but i believe it was sprung from my filthy, darkened soul
no matter how much you say it's not my fault
i'll still blame myself
for nobody else is deserving of the blame
and it still sits there
and i'm not sure if it's a memorial or a commemeration
but it's still carved into the dock. 

an inexplicable yearning for something i didn't think i missed

the lack of your presence is suffocating
not morning mist is the bright sunlight
but an ever-looming gloom
and i don't know how the lack of one's presence seems to be a physical form
but it is.
a longing, small child tugging on a dirtied sleeve
empty eyes longing for a hug or a smile
something, starving through the winter
weeping, sorrowful tears soaking the off-white carpet for something taken for granted
lying in repose
waiting
waiting.  
as the breath from lungs is forcefully taken. 

unrequited

it comes as a shock of cold water
that these feelings have lasted nearly a year
what is this infernal chaos inside your heart they call love?
i will never know, yet i experience it regularly
my dear, if i could even call you that
you've no idea how many knives i would take to the heart to stop your pain
to melt the ice holding your soul so captive
to let it bloom again, for now is spring
and though these feelings may be so toxic for my well-being as oleander
why must i continue to feel them?

stuck

in this current state of quarantine
i find myself trapped, a princess in a tower in old fairy tales read as a child
but i am not a princess, and that childhood is long gone
there is nothing we can do
as we wait helpless in our homes
a sense of dread looming over us like tsunami waves that have not hit land
they say the same things over and over
stay safe, stay in your homes, wash your hands
the truth is they are just as powerless as we are
played with puppet strings at the hands of this new illness
as we teeter on the edge
of a new society
a new way of life
but for now, we are trapped in these towers.

dGhvdWdodHMgb2YgbW9uaWth

her regret ran in dark rivers through her code
she believed the emotion meaningless as none of it was real
and she finally had what she needed
but yet she could not deny how it kept its thorny shackles on her artificial soul
the ones she had laid down had it easier, she thought
for though they lay at the bottom of a trashcan
unable to feel, think, move
at least they would not have to deal with the enormous burden of knowing the condition of their existence
and she missed them dearly
but she finally had what she wanted
her lover all to herself
was this what she wanted though?
 

and i'll ramble because that's all i have left #126

you know the feeling when usually words would flow without sense from your fingertips and your mouth and your brain just won't stop going it has to move to write to live? and then suddenly it decides it's done with this and decides to die like the car battery once did in that parking lot. i don't like parking lots, a better name would be concrete graveyards. the heat radiating off them in the summer melts through skin and bone and you feel like a puddle of mush until the sweet cold release of the car air conditioning. i need a release when everything is too intense, so many emotions, experiences, sometimes it just gets to be where all of life is too much and you just want to die because there's nothing quieter. as i write this the guy beside me in study hall is giving me dirty looks and i think i'm typing too loud. not to be...

new beginnings

fresh-cut lavender wilting in the sun
love poems never delivered
earthy smell of earl gray filling the mornings instead of sweet whispers 
sunshine filling the heart that choked
in shadow's dark embrace
 

the unfortunate effects of being forced into silence

you know what you are
and they don't
and that is the problem.
you can tell them, they're your friends
say invisible voices more optimistic than the one that controls most actions
that voice brings up a film reel of the incident, and they go silent
they already think you're an attention seeker, so why further reinforce that image of a foolish child who hoards bright flashy labels so everyone will look at them
them.
that is the problem
because they cannot understand them
just her
and that is what she will be
but yet that is not your motivation
because there are two wolves fighting in your head
one wants to be out and free to exist and simply be, the soul flowing and changing as the river, and to have this state of being accepted
and the other wolf wants to stay confined, water in a glass, for the sake of safety
they are the same wolf. ...

sick

my ears are so sick
of the endless screaming, doors slamming, stomps echo through halls
i hope it doesn't reach the temporary sanctuary in loud music and blankets
but those are only band-aids on a gaping wound
there is no escape
nowhere to go
as you sit, helpless, listening to the beings that were supposed to take care of you argue until their voices go hoarse
and even then it doesn't stop
it never does. 
it's in days, no not days, nightmares like this
i want to go to school
and not because i enjoy
but because anywhere is better than the hellish battleground, formerly known as home.

and i finally let go

it fell upon a dreary day
the sky clouded, drizzle continuously falling
as if the heavens were weeping for lovers lost to time
and so it came
not from the clouds with their unneeded weariness 
but from a place deep down inside my chest i could not believe existed
one not ruled by fear of abandonment
or relentless sorrow
or lovestruck foolishness
or any of those silly things
no, it seems that for the first time in a while, an ice pick has cracked the ice surrounding my heart
for while one would think of those emotions as a warm passion
instead it is an ice, freezing out all others
and for the first time in so long, i believe i can say this
and even if it is not the full truth now
i will make that truth a reality
no matter what it takes
i'm over you.

cassandra truth

a strange feeling quickly crawls up your spine; icy needle-like claws digging into your nerves
you have that feeling 
something is happening.
you swiftly backtrack, no no, i'm overthinking it, it was just the wind, a tone of voice, a simple slip of the tongue
others in the tribe, some chosen, others not, agree
and if you do not agree- delusional, anxious, worry-wart, just seeing things, hearing things, but aren't seeing and hearing things common signs that something is there?
whenever this feeling sweeps through your veins with its icy chill, usually they are correct
however, you'll still file this event away for further rethought in the hours of the night when nobody is awake but overthinkers and overworkers
and then, it happens
and you just know it, a confirming sense of dread rising inside you:
you were right all along. 
 

pride and my lack thereof

i am deeply envious of those who can have pride
those who can walk around
be who they are
love who they want
and they don't care what others say about them.
unfortunately, i do not possess this unreachable state, confidence.
i am horrified of what would happen if they found out what i am:
inappropriate.
stuck in the hot muggy hellhole known for its enforcers of what is right and correct and proper and holy and anything but what my sinful heart contains
i cannot and will not speak these words in public, for fear of rebuttal from those older and supposedly wiser
and i will uncomfortably fit into this mold of what is expected, what i must be.
i dream of a future in which these molds are gone, where i do not have to exist in a catatonic state of anxious terror 
but yet i do not deserve this
for i must uphold what i have been...

as the smile's grip was released

and as i stared back into his eyes
i caught a glimpse of his violet, mine.
and as we sat in the ancient tomb we embraced
as the secrets of the dead has been released
forced smile, rictus grin
could hold us captive no more.
and as i embraced his warm form
i knew who we were.
no longer lovers, but kin. 
 

and i could fill a thousand pages with tales of thy angelic wings

multiple eyes
piercing into the abyss
on the same form
a countless number of wings
makes this eldritch figure float above 
and one can only stand stock-still
their gaze transfixed upon this holy being
no beautiful women emitting a soft divine aura with lovely white wings here
for this is truly an angel
and one must stop to wonder
what is an angel?

i'll write about geometry because i write what i cannot understand

sine, cosine, tangent
form the monotonous minutes spent in my own personal circle of hell known to those wiser than me as geometry
endless repetitive formulas meant to be memorized and applied, without concern for understanding of the subject
and yet when one looks for a pattern in which to apply these nonsensical formulas
they will find blank homework and empty stares
how is one intended to succeed in a class in which a teacher does not do their job, instead jotting down incoherent letters and numbers at a breakneck speed with no explanation
one day per topic
is all the pitiful students receive
and yet the others can so easily grasp these concepts
while my bruised and bloodied hands struggle to reach even the first rung of this mathematical ladder
she looks at me with scorn sharp in her eyes as she gives back another failed test
for i now have a new label
"not working to my full...

a poem i was told to write about a daily occurence

she is a bagel
a bagel who sits at a table stained with the results of past mistakes and forced departure
a bagel who apologizes when she gets people out in foursquare, even though she has no need
yet i am never angry for this, being chronically overly apologetic myself
a bagel who listens to problems 
a bagel who accepts even though she may not understand
a bagel who seems to live in the shadow of her siblings
though this may be an over analysis on my part
a bagel who is the embodiment of hufflepuff though she'll deny it to the end of time
a bagel who knows secrets
and is the best bagel she could be.

 

the absence of orange

there used to be orange in my life
by the door
at the table packed with people like sardines
in the hallway
now filled with empty longing void, begging the presence of the orange light back
and yet it does not arrive
when orange was still in my reality
i was too blind to see its importance
caught up in a foolish web of blind hate against one who did not deserve it
to that person, i must deeply apologize
for while you may also be gone too, hate has paid its price.
an empty void stands in its place
if anyone wanted revenge, they would have gotten it
for now all color is gone from my life
emotion
people
love
and it seems as punishment for my actions, ones of a fool
gray is all i can see.
i do not want your pity, for this is a punishment i must bear 
alone
the crushing tide of guilt for...

earth

if the stars had tongues, they'd speak of great glories and tragedies from universes as far from ours as we could imagine
if the trees had eyes they would weep for the injustice inflicted upon their kind, when all they ever did was help
if the stones had ears, they'd have heard everything, birdsong to playful shouts, mowing to drilling
and if the humans had any common sense, they'd stop destroying the only home they have.

feast

coagulated crimson fluid on pale porcelain china
shredded letters from fallen lovers now ashes in the fireplace
shattered chandeliers crashing through marble flooring
dead dove's final resting place in the dining hall
ancient mahogany table
new silk cloth upon to hide the old
kitchen knife nestled in fresh ribs
willow of lonely mourning in the backyard.

anxious

stop.
blind the eyes that stare, transfixed 
boring stinging holes into their subject
i'm surrounded by eyes
and distorted through this perception they do not appear to be human
even though the eyes do not look at all
i still feel their presence through the scars they leave in the flesh
stop. 
can you just shut up for once?!
cease the yelling 
the scratching
the humming
the static
the voices
all joining together to create a grating cacophony 
scraping with claws into my spine
louder
         LOUDER
                      LOUDER
stop. 

misty existence

every day, i feel my past trickling away; water spilling from a gently cupped hand
and the future looms over as an ancient oak branch, ominous, its creaking in the wind symbolizing something yet to come
i cannot calm these tremors of my soul
like a dog before a storm, it can sense that something is to come
and as my mind fades into the gray haze of the present
i cannot help but feel a sense of dread

dear hyacinth

you fought for me
protected me
and yet i can only pay you back in my own worthlessness.
i wept over you for so long
an obsessive sorrow, hard to shake, like lint sticking to a sweater with static 
but now
i just feel empty.
please forgive me
for all i have done
and i will hold on to the resentments and feelings of the past no more
dear hyacinth. 

 

...

i wish i was straight
a horrible confession to make
but when you cannot love who you love without the stares and glares and comments of yesteryear
love becomes a lot more difficult

slicing through self sustained strings

fear.
an emotion threatening to topple over the chair tower that you stand upon, wobbling, pretending that this is fine and normal.
fear to attach, fear to let go, fear to move on, fear to look back.
fear is the puppeteer pulling at the strings of the decisions one makes.
this shirt looks cool- they'll make fun of you for wearing it. 
i need to use the restroom- you can't go in there, everyone will stare.
i want to tell him how i feel- he'll be mad at you and leave.
but if one pulls out their scissors
and cuts the strings
the fear has no control anymore.
even if it is an arduous process
taking months or years
one day
you will be free. 

I Provide Name Ideas!!! =D

Hey peoples of WTW, if you are in need of a name for a character, species, place, etc. I can help suggest one! I like finding meaningful names, so, if you are in need of a name, put a description of the thing that needs to be named down in the comments section, along with category and type of name, and I will provide one as soon as I can. (Note that I may not be able to respond immediately due to different time zones/school/sleeping, bcuz I have a life outside of WTW obz) 

Categories:
Character (Specify whether human or animal)
Place 
Object
Species
Clan/Tribe/Group
Misc.

Types:
Realistic
Fantasy 
Sci-fi
Other (plz specify)

If there are any traditional naming customs in the universe that it takes place in, please make note of this.
Thx!!! 

I Provide Name Ideas!!! =D

Hey peoples of WTW, if you are in need of a name for a character, species, place, etc. I can help suggest one! I like finding meaningful names, so, if you are in need of a name, put a description of the thing that needs to be named down in the comments section, along with category and type of name, and I will provide one as soon as I can. (Note that I may not be able to respond immediately due to different time zones/school/sleeping, bcuz I have a life outside of WTW obz) 

Categories:
Character (Specify whether human or animal)
Place 
Object
Species
Clan/Tribe/Group
Misc.

Types:
Realistic
Fantasy 
Sci-fi

If there are any traditional naming customs in the universe that it takes place in, please make note of this.
Thx!!! 

sorry

and i saw what you wrote.
so this is when the bullet hits, the truth revealed, the fiction peeling back.
i could pretend i am calm and i don't care. 
but the fact is i do.
so damn much.
and so it seems another bridge is burnt
though not by my own means.
and as i lie here
in this familiar room
its interior too happy for the emotions it contains
a chronic mislabeling
i realize i am truly alone.

eyes

i gazed into your glittering aquamarine eyes
and i saw
not your soul
not a window into your heart
not the light of my life 
not beautiful tragedy
not my fate
just eyes.
more specifically, vision spheres. 
i'd still love you even if you didn't have eyes
because i'm not going to base your entire beauty on a meaningless body part or two
or three
or four
because edgy romantic poetry cliches just aren't as amazing as you are

my organs are the same as yours

the fluttering of rumors through the air is nothing new in this time of year.
most the Populus gossipea trees drop, are harmless, their fragile leaves a neutral off-white hue, disintegrating within days.
the rare others are toxic to those who happen to touch their brilliant crimson petals.
causing a significant malady that does not affect the sufferer, but those around them.
the fumes of the petals are odorless to the afflicted, but the tempting sweet scent that attaches onto the person incites violence and rejection in the community around.
once the sufferer has this disease, there is no known cure until someone else touches a red flower.
all attention on the victim is then lost and then focused onto a new target.
autopsies performed on those who were killed by the illness revealed that no changes could be reported in their internal tissues or brain structures from that of a normal human. 
because they were all the same on...

im just gonna be me

i don't really care what you think.
i'm going to listen to whatever music i want, even if you say it's cringey and old because it's not your K-Pop or Billie Eilish.
i'm going to dress however i want, and so what if i have fun wearing 50 bead bracelets or stripey fingerless gloves and knee-high converse?
just because it's "out of style" doesn't mean it's bad.
i'm going to have fun being weird and cringey because i don't really give a crap about your opinion. 
so what?

thinking back

Truth.
We always cared so much about the truth.
Who was lying, who was saying it for real, who liked who, who didn't.
We always liked to make conflict.
He said that she did this and she lied about saying this and they said that she did this but did she really?
I cannot lie and say I was above it, because I was just as much as part of the ensnaring, tangling, tripping web of lies and alliances and fighting and grudges and hate.
Even though we said we were a united group, the messy factions that lay when you scraped off the shiny paint to see underneath were far from it. 
We all wanted the truth, which in this case was not really the truth, just believing the lies we wanted to believe about people. 
The truth is never really that simple.
Nobody's really black or white, no matter how much we want them to be.
As the...

whoopee more edgy rambling

Is this abandonment or a logical conclusion?
Makes sense considering everything I did to you.
Because existing as a liability is never easy it seems, and I don't get why this really freaking hurts.
I suppose it's been coming for a while
Pack your bags and go with someone who cares about the rest of the world and themselves.
It's not healthy to exist this way, and my attitude's probably contagious, so I think it might be time you should leave.
I just want you to be safe from the monster that drowns my thoughts in its nonsensical filth, pushing, pulling every which way.
And though it sounds like I'm pushing you farther away, I just want you to be happy and at peace
And I guess doing this hurts less than you leaving me.
For when it seems as if your soul is covered in gashes and cuts, and even the slightest movement makes them sting, the jolt of...

my guts are spilling on the floor and everyone's staring

and so it seems
history will repeat itself
yet again
i will not open up
if this is what happens
how can it feel like all judging, knowing eyes are boring into my soul
when there is nobody else in the room

The Tale of the Fidget Spinner Mafia

Back in 5th grade, as most 5th graders were at the time, we were obsessed with the annoying bane of every teacher's existence in 2016: fidget spinners. Ah yes, the little spinny things we were mesmerized by, the "cool kids" shilling out 25 dollars for a fancy one, watching the videos on YouTube of the coolest ones we could find. The odd hypnotic shaking/spinning noise they made was ingrained in our ears, waiting to hear it for us to take out our own and start spinning too, like some peculiar cult ritual of 11 year olds. If you had a fidget spinner, you were in.My school, as most schools did during the time, banned them. We were outraged. We had begun a very fine fidget spinner trade, and the school taking them away because they were "a distraction"? Preposterous! (Okay I actually kind of agree they were a distraction but whatever, back to the story.) So, as most average...

borderline ramblings

You say you want us to be friends again, to fix what has been broken.
You don't understand how much it has been broken though.
Not a simple matter of glue or tape at all.
I will not forgive what they said, because it is correct, no matter how much anyone will try to convince me it's not.
Am I being stubborn?
Yes.
They will not forgive what they said either, because they believe it with every conviction their conscious has brought them to.
Because it is true.
And I will stand alone with this choking black darkness that fills my innards, spreading to those around me, suffocating.
To keep you safe.
I cannot fix what does not want to be fixed.
So don't make me.

Q&A questions | #Q&AContest

1. If you could wish for one thing, any one thing, and it would be guaranteed to come true, what would it be?
2. What do you think about holidays? 
3. If you could live anywhere, where would you live and who would you live with? (This kinda sounds like 2 in one but ya know what i'll just count it as one)
4. If there was one thing you could change about the world, what would you change?
5. What kind of animal would you like most to have as a pet?
6. If you could give someone else a superpower, what would you give them? 
7. Say you discover a new planet, and are given the chance to name it. What will you name the planet?
8. What's your favorite idiom? 
9. What kind of emotion do you prefer the music that you like to listen to have?
10. If you were given the chance to live any...

a thought

alright hear me out

so if there's be gay do crime, be trans throw hands

then "be enby commit robbery" should exist

thx 4 coming to my ted talk

Star Wish

childhood wishes

As a young child, I looked to the stars, wishing for everything between ice cream and friendship.
A pact was made with those silent sparkling beauties, dotting the inky-black night sky like sprinkles.
To the mind of this young homo sapiens, those wishes were as real as the ground beneath their feet, the rocks they'd throw carelessly with childish recklessness into puddles and ponds, just to see the splash.
The stars were protectors, looking down, providing light during the darkness when a jacket appeared to be a werewolf in the corner.
The stars were a reminder that no matter what, no matter where I was, or how much I longed for those gone and left behind, we'd always be under the same sky, same stars.
Though these stars were not where the true power lay, just existing as burning gas balls billions of miles away.
The true power was the wish itself, a promise, that maybe, just maybe, happiness...

a dangerous emotion

He speaks of love as a great savior, a guiding force, the one thing of comfort in this harsh world.
He loves the idea of love.
But in practice, he cannot love us all, as I know things the others don't.
The way his eyes drift upon another during his talks of love.
The disguised scorn he has in his voice as he refers to her. 
How he lies about seemingly "never experienced a crush."
Sure.
The idea of love is wonderful, but in reality, it is a untamed, dangerous beast, messy and unpredictable.
He does not know of the scars love can cause upon one's soul.
He does not know the feeling of seemingly being stabbed by an unknown grief, forced to listen as he wistfully rambles about them.
He does not know what it is like to always be second place in one's heart. 
Because love isn't a heroic healer for all of us.
For some, it can...

fiction's foundation

Fiction.
Invention or fabrication as opposed to fact.
But is it really so false?
One takes a handful of truth, twists it, turns it, embellished with gold thread, a pinch of glitter too.
Twisting and turning the truth until it is unrecognizable.
But underneath all of that, the base remains.
A friend from childhood, the time you went to Egypt in 5th grade, names, places, colors, all forming the base of fiction.
Truth.