In Conclusion: It Finished Me

Poetry challenge #7

A strange dream.

"if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more"

"whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same"

"my very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame."

"my affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."

"you pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope… I have loved none but you."

if there's anything tumblr has taught me it's that this guy named franz kafka was in agony 365 days a year

endearments in letters to véra

AFTER A RAINY NIGHT

The mornings after a rainy night,

Reminds me of all our crazy fights.

The way few droplets hold onto leaves,

I held us tying my pain in sheaves.

The sky looks empty without a cloud,

Reflecting me and the things you vowed.

And slowly the day gets bright in time,

I bethink how I left right in time.

The mornings after a rainy night,

Reminds me there's always space for light.

(26.10.20)

reporting live from the war inside my head.

Book: *physically hurts to read* Me: *highly recommends*

The 25 Days of Shit Slytherins Say (Season 2): #3

Jingle bells, Umbridge smells, losers go away.

Draco’s hot, Voldy’s not.

Slytherin all the way!

disquiet

A piece of me is always missing, Like the last block of lego that I can never seem to find One empty space right in the center of the jigsaw puzzle. I'm not sure if I lost it along the way. I'm not sure if I'm yet to find it. But lately, the gap seems more blatant. I'm anxious that it's visible to the people around me. That when they look at me, they see half a person. It's almost like I'm mimicking a being While I'm on the quest for the missing elements.

Sometimes, everything is wholesome! Golden skies, daisies, moongazing, Dusty libraries where ghosts of dead poets linger, Tight hugs, acts that mean "I'm thinking of you.", I look at my picture with my friends, smiling ear to ear And the jigsaw puzzle is complete. (or it was, then.) Some memories in me are so perfect that, The missing lego piece starts to feel like an extra piece From the table, you're trying to put together. It works fine without it, and there's nowhere to put it.

Then I'm back in my bed, back in my head. And I cannot remember how to be a whole person again I eat chocolate until I'm nauseated Or I never draw the curtains open and let the light flow through. I want to live life to the fullest, I never want to be seen in public again, I want all-consuming love, I want to believe I'm worthy of it, I want to feel complete when I'm alone, I want someone to feel complete with.

I want and I want and I want… Socrates said, (Yes, I went there) "He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have." What about, She who is never content with who she is? What about me?

“Mais, vrai, j'ai trop pleuré! Les Aubes sont navrantes (But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking.)”

—

Arthur Rimbaud, 

Le Bateau Ivre (The Drunken Boat)