Some People Think Writers Are So Eloquent And Good With Words, But The Reality Is That We Can Sit There

Monstrous Devotion (It Will Devour You Whole)

Another piece for @m1d-45. It was meant to be short but as you can tell, got out of hand.

Desperation 

You remember it well

How it sparked your blood

And got it to run

How it tasted of bitter and tang

Much like the sting of blood

You remember how it kept you alive

Made your nerves so sensitive 

It prickled with every breeze

Every slight disturbance

How it kept your sleep light

And your dreams even lighter

Even now as you watch

The archons who adorn your body

With the most precious of gems

And the rarest of treasures 

They who once tried to shed your blood

To water their blade

You see the warriors of each nation

Who tried to rend your soul from your body

Attend your every need 

Degrading themselves as objects

As lesser than human

To try and exalt you higher

You feel more than you hear

As you watch once beloved characters

Stain themselves with sin

Desperation of their own

Rising to the surface

Their desperation is monstrous 

Predator to prey

Your own desperation has not waned

It has only grown

Writhing under your skin

Fueled by fine jewelry 

Silken clothes

And bloodstained manic smiles

Your forgiveness is not sincere

It is learned

Through a lifetime of pain

Of a death so vivid

You're desperate to stay alive

You are willing to do anything

But what once kept you safe

Will now be the one to deal a fatal blow

You already know this

Alarm bells ringing

With every minute move

But it's far too late

You're stuck in puppet motions

That are to never cease

Until the life drains from your eyes

Desperation made you learn to survive

And now that very same lesson shall be the one to end you

Anemoia (How Long Will You Reach For The Ghosts Of Distant Stars?)

They could see the stars tonight, bright splatters of light across the shadows of the sky. They don't really know why they decided to come out here, so far from the comfort of their little cottage, but they don't want to return, not yet at least. Wrapped in their cloak, they nestle themselves into the trunk of an old, hollowed out tree as they crane their neck upwards. The stars flicker and blink down at them, almost as if they were waving a hello. A ridiculous thought they don't mind entertaining as they raise their own hand to wave back. Maybe they are a bit of a fool, but they never claimed to be wise in the first place.

This reminds them of dreams they could have sworn they had forgotten, the wisps of names and faces that linger on their tongue even as the memories faded from their mind. They could almost feel the leathery skin underneath their fingertips, the sharp edges of scales too big. The blooming feeling of awe as feather and fur alike curl around their shoulders. Even the whistling winds, rustling through leaves and grass, remind them of the songs they used to sing, the lyrics long forgotten. Not quite unexpectedly, it hurts. Aching something fierce and bold in their chest, that forces tears to well in their eyes. Logically, they know it's silly to cry over something they can barely remember, over something that the world doesn't remember existing. At least, not in this life.

But they don't swallow down the sob that leaves their throat nor wipe away the iridescent tears that fall from their eyes. They don't mind the chill that seeps into their chest as their tears soak through the thin fabric of their shirt, far too busy watching the stars drift across the skies. They think, at first, only distantly, that they can see the twisting shapes of long serpentine bodies and billowing wings. They swear they can hear the timber of voices overlapped, the shadows of all too human bodies that they should know but can't quite remember. They wonder if they can miss people that don't exist.

They wonder if these memories are what drives them away from the people, the connections, of this earth. Star child, they remember their grandmother whispering to them in the late hours of the night. You are loved, they remember her murmuring to them every day from then on. They remember clinging to her feeble form as she spun tales of mystical beasts and stories of man made gods. Rivers to a lake, spiraling into the deep caverns underneath, hoarding knowledge underneath their silence. They wonder if there was some truth to her tales after all.

Star child, that name, title they suppose, has haunted them throughout their entire life. They wonder if it is why they can taste lightning on their tongue even when the skies are clear, if it is why they can feel the brittle-snap of thunder between their teeth. They wonder if it is why frost cradles their skin even when hearth-warm fire curls in their chest, the duality often leaving them sick and bedridden. Wildfires spark to life, just shy of burning and charring the vulnerable flesh of their heart. That coil around their ribcage and rumble as though the earth was quaking under a cat's quiet purr. All the while, ice forms at the base of their throat, encircling their arms like sharp shackles. They don't mind the chill, even when it hurts to speak. They welcome the frost and the cold, wrapping themselves in snow to stave off the constant heat.

They suppose it is, just like the winds that push for them to wander the world. A wanderlust unseen in their family, where others root themselves into the soil, they take to the skies. Following where the breeze and the gales blow them, the peaks of snow-capped mountains and the depths of oceans. Their body is not meant for travel, frail from the war that wages inside them. But it's not as if they could stop. They ache for the road, to chase after the stars as if they could someday reach up to pluck them from the skies. Their only real companion over the years, the feel of coiled bodies in the palm of their hand and the sound of an echoing roar in their ears.

Sometimes, they still expect a tail to curl itself around their legs even though the creature that tail is connected to only resides in their dreams. They still turn and expect to see the divine tipped claws of monsters, to have to tip their head back to speak to looming shadows of those they should know and still somewhat do, even if they haven't met them yet. Their disappointment when all that greets them is silence and emptiness is often crushing and immeasurable, inconsolable grief that drapes across their shoulders like a dark veil. Those days, they spend their time inside, away from the sun and the stars, away from the gaze of the people that stare and stare. They spend those days painting and writing, over and over, trying to capture the faces and forms of their companions they so desperately want to remember.

But it never looks quite right. Something is always wrong, always off. Failure is a bitter thing to swallow, it tastes of bile and blood and tainted honor. It is the shattering of pride, the sting of human hubris that leads them to bury their half written journals and messily sketched paintings. It is what forces them to grip the few pieces of their memories close, cradling their dreams like the most precious of treasures. Long fluttering scarves and cloaks, flowing fabrics that hide the invisible pouches of chiming bells and glimmering scales. Though they carry little on their journey, they can't help but feel an anchor's weight on their shoulders, Atlas heavy. A worthwhile price for the imaginary companions that drive away the loneliness, even if they do still want to feel the steady heartbeat underneath their hands.

Star child, they muse to themselves, it grows more fitting by the year. Stardust in their veins and the world at their fingertips, it is only a matter of time before they will be cradled in the careful coils of their once lost companions, one way or another.

@n0tamused

*long-suffering sigh*

just a small psa — if yandere/dark content isn’t your cup of tea, just block and move on. you are in charge of your internet experience.

writing/consuming this genre, as much as it is a coping mechanism used by me and others, does not equate to glorifying it. please utilize reading comprehension and pay attention to disclaimers, and the way these topics are depicted.

does the author of the work you’re reading properly tag and call for the importance of seeking mental health if you/others are portraying unhealthy behaviors? conduct research on the author and confirm whether or not they have a history of condoning shitty behaviors. consume art with a critical eye.

moral senses are not universal and should never be treated as such.

ask questions. cross reference. if something squicks you, blacklist or block! you aren’t the target audience, and that is okay. everything is not for you.

and PLEASE conduct some self–study and unpack your biases with your concepts of good and bad. not everything is black and white. i pray that someday, you learn to be significantly less judgmental with what people choose to spend their time doing. if nobody is being hurt, leave the perpetrator be. moral greyness isn’t evil, bad, and shouldn’t be shunned or demonized.

writers/artists are already given enough shit, no matter the genre. you don’t like it? scroll. block. it’s free. make your own stuff. create what you want to see. art with scary/dark themes has been here for centuries, and will be here after all of us are gone. do you think something is worthy of critique? offer something constructive and move on!

just because YOU!! don’t like a piece of art with dark themes doesn’t mean it should never exist. if you want sterile, clean work then make your own.

and for the love of all, please practice what you preach and be kind.

Return To Stardust (Eternity Is Within Our Grasp)

A cosmos of stardust

Memories of a life never lived

Of a body that wasn't quite right

A companion to the one lost

Haunted by a vengeful past 

Bound to secrecy and silence

He waits for painful judgment 

But for the one born of starshine

Love and loyalty is not so easily lost

A beginning brought forth

From vicious destruction 

A fate once damned 

Blooms ever faithful

Two souls lost in the abyss

At last find their way back home

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

Reblog if you love AO3 and appreciate their volunteers who are working harder than God, fighting battle after battle, making sure the place that is a safe space for every fandom is staying up and running for all of us

Memories Of A Life Never Lived (Why Am I Worth Your Love?)

Starshine glimmer in dark oceans, the flicker of familiarity that truly made no sense yet still persistently existed. He does not linger on the memories he knows are not his, and yet they surface in his mind time and time again. He tips his head, bowing his head in submission as he is pressed onto satin sheets. He does not understand the ramifications of his remembrance, but he falls back into its embrace, willingly drinking from the truth that only he knows. He moans your name, gratitude lacing his every word and love flowing in his veins. Breathless whines and keening whimpers at the feeling of butterfly kisses across his skin, his eyes glazing in ecstasy. His mind falls, pleading and sobbing into quicksand, drowning in the memories that are not his, and yet they are all the same.

Each person he sees, he knows, is him, and yet he can not fathom how. For each iteration of his being has you by his side, steadfast and ever loving. His mind and his body wars with the other, pleasure overtaking the confusion blooming in his mind. His breath stutters, catching in his throat as he lets out a quiet but heaving sob. Tears glimmer in his eyes, beading on his eyelashes like the first of morning's dew. And for a moment, his world whites out, silence echoing in his ears like the death knell that he remembers hearing but never experiencing. When he comes to, he waits for a moment to catch his breath, and he smiles up at you. Wistful and longing and far too knowing.

The one who survives in the face of time and the tides of the seasons, and the one who lives and dies and lives again, to be mortal and not. They are doomed to fail, but that is the price of a live that was never meant to be. For eternity, they are sworn, but it is a tale of heartbreak and an ache soul deep.

Normalcy Is What You Crave (But How Can You Be So Foolish?)

@m1d-45. I've returned with another poem.

Forgive and forget

An interesting saying, is it not?

But can it really be applied here

When the scars remain

Of cruel deaths 

And vicious hunts

When the memories linger

Plaguing the mind

Shattering rose tinted glasses

Can one be forgiven

Of such a heinous deed

Can one even forgive 

Such a terrible sin

When one pledges loyalty

Faith to the very end

But it is the monsters who stay

Devoted and loving

Forgiveness is not for you

They will never forget 

And they will never forgive 

Not in the way that matters

You who stood once so tall

Blessed and beloved

Are nothing more than sinners

Fallen from grace 

And it is before you 

Your honored god sits 

Surrounded by a court of monsters 

Who wait on them

For every beck and call

Forgive and forget, was it?

Pitiful.

Mercy was not meant for you

You shall find no salvation here

I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.