noodle's bowl

hi, im noodle. any pronouns. im in my 30s. audhd. i balance between dark and hopeful. i like heavy metal, goth, nightcore, sad songs. sharks and a bunch of other things too.

i made this place to be a refuge for the part of my heart that's soft and quiet, turning confessions and ordinary life into memory-soaked blurs.

always wanted to share my stuff online but never got the chance.

not a single speck, much less traces

if I were to explain how I cover my bases

I would enumerate in these four stages:

deminish, deny, deflect

2. defy, depend, direct

3. an existence without cause and effect

4. let me have this count so not to forget

in a world where everything moves

a string of connections too loose

I'll do my best to choose

my ever continuous abuse

I've tried and tried and tried

to tend to the flowers that dried

watered gardens and cried

all useless, nothing left to hide

each moment seems set in stone

a dreadful end to what once had shone

life has eaten it all to the bone

i can maybe try to write a poem

without really caring how it would look like

or end up sounding as

i can make any words match

with any sounds you'll hear in your head

i wonder which voice resonates

when you read

a little poem to sleep

a puppy sigh

a wet blanket

it is nighttime

smells of cinnamon

books on shelves

and a shudder

close the curtains

i was going to write a poem

but i forgot how to exist

somehow days have passed

my life turning into soaked paper

engorged by overstimulation

leaving me no ease

i look at known faces and feel pain

while the unknown sends me a message

a fleeting feeling to turn tail.

whose wrongness is right?

even being haunted by old pictures

in kodak camera albums

carries the taste of tar

a watched up carcass of the past

as the beach is dotted by curious eyes

everyone askings questions

is it worth it, living in virtue?

is such a thing other than a comfort for the already damned?

if there were words to call the unsure: trapped, lifeless

for those who long, the waiting is too heavy

a few doses of mildew, an ever increasing desire to rot

a few scraps of text, a world of pain

surely, i feel trapped by my own flesh

a lightless tunnel overstretching

reminiscing my fears.

i do not want to live in sin

though it gives me temporary solace

before i bloom, before an angel comes to save me

it is all stained with blots of ink

charcoal, slime, blowing my nose at an old encyclopedia

gazing at a limbless body, tapestries made of purple threads

I, a woman of the cloth, entering the room not-to-be-entered

rejoicing at a topsy-turvy, dice cast at a table for drunks

drunk with ''having'' and ''wish had''. drunk with my lifeforce

there is no way out besides a major breakthrough

the taking of the horses, the riding to the dawn

the piercing sword of a life well-lived, the awareness beyond

beyond. beyond. beyond what?

this veil that blocks my view:

i'm unable to look down

and the fatigue of the years, time under duress

cascading, cascading, cascading

cascading, cascading, cascading

their tired hands typing up

a hundred calls for help

nobody knows what lies underneath

is this what it means to be man?

chanting for a purpose

in the farthest reaches

where light doesn't find a limb to grab

they play with lights and textures

colors and intentions

finding in themselves a delusion most perfect

covered with chocolate, opulent gold

someday those things belonged to their parents

and their parents before

the difference is in their crooked smiles

that disappear when one prods

all their wells dried.

i miss the 90s

and how free i felt

never swam in those lakes again

they were never real