Transcript And Tag List Under The Cut! (ask To Be Added):

the faces on cardboard stand so still, so stubborn;

some crooked, grinning, others flushed, skinny.

they perch so distinct yet so similar. so alive in the moment, dead soon after.

what do they say about the bodies they are attached to?

how spontaneous but motionless, such misdirects they create!

some jaws clenched, some eyes flashing red;

they froze the moment but fabricating the abstract sense.

after some sixteen nights,

the bodies live vicariously through the stationary smirks,

touching each other’s arms, rejoicing in

the nihilistic environment they concocted once.

its been several years since they faced the flash,

they have propagated the boards, one for each soul.

now the memory serves only when one roams about the storeroom.

so they do, if roam not often, but once a month.

“the cardboard emits different reflections”, each mutters.

time changed their vision and their power to resist what it brought-

faces on cardboards stand so still, so stubborn,

some crooked, grinning, flushing fiendish forms.

- @akratiisalive

A Ritual of Eternities by @akratiisalive, published in wine cellar press

transcript and tag list under the cut-

A Ritual of Eternities

On his Sunday mornings, I bury my prayers/in our backyard to remain intact while the bells toll,/ reminding myself breathing can exist outside of the four walls./ The cryptic of morning dew has far disappeared &/ multitudes of his kitchen rattle have ceased like time.// I lean away from my sight to find his ankles-/ heavy and wretched on the stones./ A breeze of autumn disposition has come/ to greet my morning breath/ & I let out a hushed scoff on nature’s humbleness/that still tends to his falsehood of preaching despair.// He drags the metal chair cutting the hymns enough for us/ to realize the betrayal we commit every seventh day in our chambers./ I plate his killings of plants and eggs to assure our fasting hunger,/ & His shadows cut through between our sunlight/ marking the graveyard of unheard words.// He draws his fork together with the knife as I pour honey/ as if wanting to weigh out the sweet/ in the bittersweet aftermath of our morning rituals./ We count our shared minutes in our separate countable eternities./ I swallow my eyes with the poison he pours in my chalice of wine.// On my Sunday mornings, he buries me with his forks and knives/ & I remain intact- torn away- but intact in his intestines./The cryptic of morning dew is buried deep within his fingernails/ and the multitudes of his kitchen rattle have ceased to exist.

tag list:

@ruins-of-heart @some-broken-words @rottensummerlove @it-is-what-it-is @floralbeast @nochampagneonlyproblems @riskanothergoodbye13 @hoeliterature @mydogisgaytoo @lilhappylilsad (why isnt this working ugh)

i have so many files in my notes app that mention/are based on summer. its really hard to bid something goodbye that was never meant to stay long when you live around people and not with them. i am stuck within a corner of myself that i have created by consuming deeply irreligious media which never bothers the ones i live around. i don’t know why i am writing this because this isn’t making sense but it’s supposed to. sun today here isn’t shinning and all the birds depart from the sky by 4:30 pm. the verandah echoes emptiness even though we have just hung a new swing, knowing we will hardly sit on it anymore. we tiptoe around tragedies every other moment but in this house we never speak of the real. i need to read books and consume mitski more. the gap between those parked cars is making me realize how much i crave for a tightly packed space with my neighbours. god is not around because i was dreaming of calm waters this morning as i woke up with a jolt and my body didn’t shiver. the days will grow darker tomorrow but today is almost over and nobody seems to acknowledge how much they miss it.

hi!! I saw ur post and wanted to let u know that I enjoy ur writing sm and genuinely love when it pops up on my dash,,it’s always so touching and well-written and i fr find myself re-reading ur writing bc it’s so good :”)))) wishing u all the best and hope you get well soon!!!!

no im constantly enthralled by the positive energy u radiate over here! really hope u r doing good and love the way u write omg🙇🏻‍♀️💓💓so this coming from you is so wow. so grateful for you! love you<3

transcript: hands to my dreary dreams.

i have been shedding skins since last August. consider me an onion, your favourite vegetable. don’t put me in water. i need to shed your tears.// the dreams are dreary like cold milk or uncooked soup. the tepid air in the kitchen, under the sheets disgorges a burnt out fire, never a homely warmth. but in this one bedroom kitchen apartment, they heap incompleteness yet they are consumed like your favourite soup.// i want you to reach into my throat, past the lips that have never been swayed. reach out to the words i hoard, my secret stash, the ones that even eyes fail to convey.// reach out to me and i will meet you halfway in my sleep. all i do now is dream. the wishful thinking is not about staying still but moving quietly in my sleep. and letting the grass strike my face as i bend my limbs to mould into the tire. i am reaching out to every six year-old who played with me but i have replaced my body with a tall child.// i want to stand still, drive a knife to make myself two. a daughter, now let me be two cells too. mitosis: i want to get doubled, not divided into halves like my father.// untangle my earphones. are you watering my plants? the sun will incinerate their phantom vibrants for even clouds deceive when salt of the earth doesn’t hit the mark.// i have buried my grief in my mother’s lap. now, she has ceased to exist. meet me halfway in her shawl. i will wrap my fingers around yours. and in time, my windows will crawl back to our home, their edges engraved with her shawl.

tag list under the cut (ask to be added or removed):

@ruins-of-heart @a-moonlit-poet @rottensummerlove @ch3rryblo55oms @nochampagneonlyproblems @champagne-rush @mydogisgaytoo @floralbeast @it-is-what-it-it-iss @lilhappylilsad @hoeliterature @kajukatliontop

on his day and mine

taglist under the cut:

@ruins-of-heart @a-moonlit-poet @rottensummerlove @champagnesrush @kajukatliontop @jules-hazard @eveesque @ch3rryblo55oms @mydogisgaytoo @lilhappylilsad @it-is-what-it-it-iss @parihumay ( if yk their moved blog, do inform!)

transcript:

summer’s shadowless exit wounds

august is shifting its entry wounds to october’s doors and the lines of your palms are telling you the number of summers you have spent in your shadow./ the essence of your mayhem is corpsing with sun’s each passing ray;/ the salivary savour of the right ingrown wisdom tooth has cut through your tongue./ in lieu of mango-lit dreamland hours, you are bleeding summer’s grass blades into bleached hair by the pumpkin moon./ the air doesn’t taste saline anymore. // the badlands bequeathed from your father’s lineage have traces ingrained/ even in your attic’s decades-old dust./ they are robbing you of yarns of your maternal grandma’s sarees./ and you’re tired./ you’re tired of helping your mother out to make space for every hand-me-downs/ she has been shoving under her bed. // summer did cut through like a knife/ but you had been stitching your outspoken words/ together to make sweeter sentences,/ so,/ when this year’s fall bids your birds goodbye, they wouldn’t be left with traces of your anomaly. the ones that flew out/ as soon as you opened yourself to the sun,/ for you have realised that the light/ can find you even with the curtains drawn./ there is no place to hide except for the sun’s mouth.// the top right foot of the dinning table/ has stopped creaking./ your grandfather passed away in July./ Chapatis in the house have/ thickened to the normal measure,/ so now,/ you won’t get called names on your bony frame. father sits in the bedroom, contemplating/ on the bait of his day’s sweat by/ the notes he gave out that day and the ones/ he will receive at the end of the month./ the dining table,/ now,/ sits empty in a muffled rattle.// your tongue tastes like/ the decayed French Marigolds/ you found in your late may’s school backpack./ its fragrance still travels through when/ you smell it in between the beige curtains/ of the attic’s room./ you are pondering on what must it be like to watch yourself sleep./ the heart is not heart shaped and/ you want to wash dishes with the foam/ but there are none left in the sink./ you haven’t eaten for 2 hours and,/ unlawfully,/ like an adult’s dream,/you are hungry again.

taglist under the cut! ( send an ask to be added removed.)

@champagnesrush @ch3rryblo55oms @ruins-of-heart @a-moonlit-poet @rottensummerlove @jules-hazard @it-is-what-it-it-iss @kajukatliontop @floralbeast @mydogisgaytoo @lilhappylilsad @parihumay (if anyone knows their moved blog, pls notify me)

I don't wannna see you stop writingggg!!❤️❤️❤️

i always enjoy seeing your posts on my feed!

keep upp! you're doing great! actually, you're doing amazing. just keep up!🌹

here, huggy puggy.

oh my god thanks so much for this!! so grateful for the fact that you like reading my silly little lines. i promise i won’t stop writing but just really need sometime. havent been doing great mentally, iykyk. but will definitely try to get back to shitposting my stuff here!!

special thanks to @fawadkhangf for titling this piece!

transcript and taglist under the cut!

Tender Curses

Tenderness is the wound I chisel out of you/ when we scrape the light off of us in the shower/ in the mornings enclosed with curtains drawn./ I sing to the beats of the water that falls without touching you.// In ache when we join fingers to your delight, my lover,/ you curse the thumb that circles my palm./ In ways when you whisper of the lack of flesh in this world,/ I hear your impetrations of succumbing to a child’s sky.// When after the evening dream in the purple, the moon turns into a star,/ I sit on your collarbones, you weigh my scars./ We weave of all the ways ocean will never turn against the shore;/ the morning contrives the lumps in our throat.// From the lies with which we draw our quilts,/ you reek of tenderness, I chant your sins./ After the morning tea when you talk of numbers and the deaths in a far-off land,/ I chisel out your wounds of tenderness and carpent our hourglass.

taglist: @king-of-knives @a-moonlit-poet @bedfordhealyx @it-is-what-it-it-iss @kajukatliontop @nochampagneonlyproblems @fawadkhangf @mygayisdogtoo @lilhappylilsad @cherryblossom @parihumay @jules-hazard @eveesque @wigilda @theazurepoet @ghostfilesbish @penguinstudiesstuff @a-smart-dumbass @anarchist-therapist @intoxicatednits @rustyswingset