Secretly Rei Ayanami

Unreachable fantasies,

And I’ll cling oh so tight.

Squeeze all the nectar off life,

Spectate as they detonate

And deteriorate the mind who forged them.

What is my cliff of hope?

Loaded the revolver while staring

At despair inside its barrel so intently

The light never had quite seemed so bright

Before I’d seen it in charcoal powder

I’ll adapt.

My disgusting craftiness and inability 

To ever truly live the truth.

I linger in the limbo

Purgatory of life and mind.

It will one day drive me mad.

White halls will be kinder 

Than my hands, many minds and hearts

cruel twisted smile meants emptiness to me

Delectable air will reach me, in the heaven

Of my dreams

Erase the sins lodged in me.

I shall too be cleansed 

I will stop morphing into myself

And return to my original form as it had always

Every face, every voice,every mundane pair of eyes.

Blood boils beneath your skin, you hate all of it.

Why do their eyes crinkle at the edges when they smile,

why do they shine with joy from within?

What makes them so superior to you?

All of them sitting together.

Girls with shiny, thick hair;

curled to perfection.

Sometimes, when your dull, dark eyes were glossed over and murky with fury you’d imagine running your calloused fingers through those curls,

rendering them ratty and unkempt,

pulling the strongs of hair away from their follicles.

Your hands would itch and burn at the thought,

twitching, reaching.

Yet ultimately, remaning glued by your side.

So, why did you never attack?

Coiled so tight, what pressure were you waiting for to snap?

Their words should have been enough long Aho,

their dimenishing stares.

“Can’t you do anything right for once?”

“No wonder nobody talks to her”

“You’d just be better off rotting in some ditch”

You took all of it.

You’d think their actions would have been enough.

Yet you failed to snap every single time.

And finally, as you stand before them, gun in hand, you choose yet again yourself.

And you shoot.

Yourself.

Bullet through head, finally bringing you freedom,

horrified faces of those who stood before you.

You leave them with a parting gift that will haunt them far greated than their words truly haunted you.

An inabality to comprehend,

you didn’t feel fulfilled.

You didn’t feel free.

For that last second before your departure, you felt regret.

Their faces weren’t just scarred, they were concerned.

Brows furrowed, mouths twisted, hands reaching to tear the gun away from your grimy fingers.

You shut your eyes, 

you wouldn’t feel regret now.

Not now, you chanted to yourself.

I don’t want your apologies now.

And yet, part of you did.

And you know it.

So, you went with a bullet through your unkept locks and a hand reaching out to the world.

Your brain fractured and spweing, and your heart begging for the ones infront of you to stop.

You wish for once you’d given in to your true desires.

To let those figures help you, even for just a second, even if their heart wasn’t in the action truly.

How long will the silence stretch onwards for?

My ears, subjected to atrocities

words strung together with barbed wire

electrocuting my poor heart

and yet,

the canals leading to my brain seemed to prefer blood ruther than built up dust

Where is your voice gone now?

Now that it had finally morphed into my routine

how could you rip it out after so forcefully breaking the sound barrier?

Only 15 yet almost deaf

and yet, you hear everything perfect

Filtered, maybe the hint of muted

but still you hear

A pitiful chore nowadays

without his crude and raw voice navigating you on the road to slow discent

Oh, how comforting those yells felt,

how safe those arrows would look when he was the one to drive them into your brain through your ears.

Now the tips of them are rusty, still plunged into your poor intellect

but afflicting a new type of damage.

No noise dulls out the thorb of the pain

as they now twist themselves y your own hands.

Oh, how long will the awful silence last?

When will he come back to shatter those arrows with his voice again?

I’ll wait for it, for the familiar sting 

I’ll plug my ears every night and day,

ignore those around me.

No one else’s voice other than his will ever graze my ears

No one else’s existence will ever graze my body like his did

But what it ever your choice?

No matter,

the rust from the old arrows has already seeped deep into you,

-quote by Rei Ayanamy

On those sleepless nights, during which the moon shifts into a thief, using its mellow light to suck the rot out of my mind.

On those sleepless nights, in which the barren room around me regurgitates your shadows, shadows that reflected from my mind; shadows that had never belonged to those four walls.

On those sleepless nights, my body rattles against the balmy pillow, and as I thrash as if I had been depraved of oxygen, no flushed body can be found next to mine.

Yet the dips on the mattress remain, haunting and daunting.

A reminder of the nights shared, depolluting minds.

The nights in which a sweet gentle angel would lay by my side, indifferent to the turmoil inside its own benign mind.

The nights in which the moon’s chants and mellow lights were long forgotten, if not lost, between sheets.

Sheets that were pure, untouched by sins.

Sheets that had witnessed first hand poetry, showcases of the love that was depicted in Ancient Greek tomes, something so natural and delightful that even Pan  himself would have accepted it as nature’s course.

A love so indifferent to the state of the world, confined only to the safety of the other’s gentle embrace, defined by artful gestures.

Gestures of preferences, of protection.

Protection that was now lost, replaced by the same, now devilish sheets that had let it come to life in the first place oh so cruelly.

Sheets that were now tainted with other’s chants.

Chants that didn’t fill the space like the light of a bonfire that reflected around the rocks of the otherwise barren cave, but instead would ricochet off the walls, the syllables feeling foreign and disconnected, blurred and unsure, their meaning morphing with every deviation of their path.

Sheets that were now around their owner’s body once again,my body, tight and secure.

Oh, how lovely it all felt, its familiar sting reminding me of the one whom I used to call my own under these sheets.

Sheets that were now tight around my neck.

A cut throat replacement of the soft lips that would long-ago graze the very same skin, the very same path, filling it with lenient reassurance. 

But the marks of the reassurance of my lover were now lost, washed away along with the stains that they undeniably left.

But marks can truly never dissipate, but only morph.

And morph they did, gaining edge, edge that didn’t leave.

Edge that didn’t leave.

And as the now hopeless moon finished its robbery, it was chased away.

Chased away from its sky.

And along with the scrolling of the chant, went the soul of the one listing to it.

The sheets were now cold, no longer balmy from pitiful tears or from soft words.

-quote by Rey Ayanami What has that unjust and tyrannical organ served you?

A slave to its crevices, to its twisted thoughts and rhythms

Every beat the same, incessant, yet to complex.

A music for your ears, only announced to those brave enough to want to merge with it.

Somehow, your old heart never found time to work it out

Is that rhythm euphoric?

Euphoric like the love you had once you received,

So naive and vain,

Afraid of touch, yet yearning for vigilance?

A mindless, self declared enlightened savior,

Lolling you into its embrace every walking moment of your life,

Yet never connected to your mind.

Administrating and servicing your limbs with fuel.

That same propellent that burnt too erratic?

my features are crust, as the waves of the sea

with the salt of my tears

if you so love me

oh,do u so need me?

she wants it more than need

a shared feature 

if you declare yourself so perfect,

why don’t those around you know?

Such love you have to gift,

yet will it ever pour out

of those dry and shagged lips u own?

not tonight, my love

those words will remain unsaid

I can see the birds flock around me, 

is this the same freedom you desperately chased?

your body’s limp to nature

yet lips remain sealed

is this all you’re good for?

if you’re so perfect

why do those around you

Who am I if not an empty shell, a lifeless display of cool toned warmth and found perfection?

Who am I, when others don’t watch?

Who am I when the act isn’t on, when I’m bare of other’s eyes and thoughts, naked to the mind and vulnerable to words?

A shell of a once daisy fresh girl, the memory of a fragile soul, broken at too young to comprehend it was wrong.

The essential wisp of a long missing will.

Where did it all go?

Where did it all peak and descend so fast?

So terribly quick were the roots of my youth snapped off so brutally by a faceless gardener.

A now consumed body, put on display along with its instrumental mind, a mind worn down and shaped simply for other’s pleasure, never for its own.

A shameless puppy, not able to live by itself, without praise and plastic love.

My empty shell will remain so.

My empty shell will not be regenerated.

My empty shells are all destroyed, yet fail to disappear.

Every version of “me” is simply a copy of the earlier one, personality nude and never changing, turmoil never-ending and happiness quick.

Witty tongue and sad eyes, the empty shell steals the light yet again.

Are you free afraid of abandonment, sad puppy?

Or are you afraid of love?

Which of the two has caused your young and soft skin to turn rugged and cold?

Your gentle hands now rough towards others.

Was it love, or its consequences that urn your life-full body into an empty shell?

The human mind is a fragile thing truly; ungraspable, forever out of reach.

Not even the humans mind itself could ever fathom and understand its truth.

Simply and unjustibly obvious, a physical organ in charge of the nervous system, yet so much more.

The center of humanity, the most unstable and dangerous weapon that was ever inflicted upon humankind.

The ultimate reason for the never-ending confusion and sufferings.

Simple emotions warping into twisted dreams, unreliable thoughts and trauma induced morals, an organ auto inflicting damage constantly.

Always and forever remaining stuck on a single thought, leading to much more.

The root of evil and the bearer of hope.

No goodness is ever free in the human mind, therefore ulterior motives are undoubtedly roaming and rooted into our daily life.

Fears morphing into strengths, loneliness turning into safety and weariness growing in conversations.

Will the mind ever free itself of doubts?

Simply. No.

Trauma shaping the soul and mind, scarring itself onto the very core of a human and never detaching.

As long as the mind and soul live there will forever be hope of reconciliation.

Between humans themselves and their internal turmoil.

As long as the mind and soul live there will always be torment and dishonesty.

Care and abandonment

Self inflicted pain and violence

Dependent and independent

The human race will never understand itself, remaining forever an undying and conscious mystery

The sun rays slipping through our fingers; forever there and noticeable; but forever remaining untouched and unreal.

The day the rays will be caught, is the day they won’t remain ethereal, but rather die out.