Transcript And Tag-list Under The Cut:

water seepage;

thump-thump! in the box.

her ears drowned,

she shifted in her slumber.

in came a blow

as its wings swung by;

her satin shorts shivered,

she lifted her grandma’s spirited quilt.

calming the horripilations,

she could sniff the old lady’s cinnamon tea.

though the summers called for chills,

humanly warmth was indispensable .

- @akratiisalive

In a million pieces i fell-

The untoward had happened;

none heard my bones cracked,

none felt the silence it left me with.

The earth beneath me wasn’t holy or fertile.

It was cemented, though crooked, unzipping.

The sky turned on me,

enclosing my body, following my soul-

I didn’t turn my head in, it was held straight

but another did not shield my body, I was left alone.

Thus, the realisation flickered my shattered soul:

The fate of being alive

didn’t help the survival,

didn’t care for salvation.

- @akratiisalive

hey there! 💙💜 i like your poetry immensely, could you add me to your taglist? :)

omg hi!! i love your work too ur blog seems such a safe space. thank you so much it’d be my pleasure to add u<333

SORRY FOR THE DOUBLE ASK I REALISED I FORGOT TO ASK TO BE IN UR TAGLIST LMAO 😫

omg thanks so much!!!! u r added!! <33333

Can I please be added to your taglist?🥺

heyyy star!! yes for sure<3333

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)

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)