Poetic Orange

Unfathomable

Immeasurable

Indeed.

No one can withstand the fallen

except

itself.

You wave your goodbyes and I'm saddened by the view of the sudden demise of the art masterpiece I glorify.

A nescient accomplice attached to my spine Anecdotal statements on my past have resurfaced Deign feast on their bloodlust supper Fragments of my past cannot be there e verdict Rather reify all the pieces of evidence pushed upon my signature Peccant they see, a composition but never a whole Even though the forthright tongue I speak No one can cleanse the stains upon my name.

Neverending pain means neverending poetry.

𝐼 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝐸𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑡 𝑎 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑝ℎ𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑠 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝒾𝓉  𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑙 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝐼𝑠 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑟ℎ𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑒.

Sometimes I have fantasies of becoming a mermaid.

I am a totally bad swimmer in real life. Zero percent talent. I'll drown in just a second.

But the real swimming stamina in life is -here, within. And it is worse, and vaster far than any other form of water.

If you shouted. The sound will echo back multiple times inside your head. That's how deep these oceans are.

I wished once on becoming a mermaid so that I can save myself from drowning.

Capabilities beyond human capacity. Because what I've gone through is beyond words too.

The glimmers and ambiance entice me, Engulf until suffocated.

I'm losing motivation. That's why I haven't finished any drawings here.

Every so-called masterpiece are unfinished The master has been melting and weakened Impossibly cured and comforted By any alignment, pigments, and brand new canvasses As it becomes rotten and dull Warmness and sadness is its both effective instrument to be discerned Creating something amidst the wildfire, as rain follows Its art will be transmitted through echoes of time and wrapped by air Which will be remembered throughout the century, kept in beholders eyes, dimensions and heritage passed in generations Indeed, A portion of the whole will remain in the memory of a passerby. As you look upon the sky, The names and faces do evaporate, but not the language. 'My language.'

Dwindling dreams into the chamber swerve to fantasy yet no one else is running to rescue, anxiously withstanding a tremendous amount of lifeless nightmare.

Sometimes I have fantasies of becoming a mermaid.

I am a totally bad swimmer in real life. Zero percent talent. I'll drown in just a second.

But the real swimming stamina in life is -here, within. And it is worse, and vaster far than any other form of water.

If you shouted. The sound will echo back multiple times inside your head. That's how deep these oceans are.

I wished once on becoming a mermaid so that I can save myself from drowning.

Capabilities beyond human capacity. Because what I've gone through is beyond words too.

The glimmers and ambiance entice me, Engulf until suffocated.

Its departure knocked me up unconscious for the rest of my life

Like resting in the vast hole, pitch-dark ice cold

But we always seek for the missing piece, that is what humans normally do

And I know as I search. It'll find me too.

Demons are haunting me like I'm their lost confidante Dreaded secrets and memories I slowly unveil yet it disturbs once waves Fallen and soaked into the hole of false hopes uncertainty and corrupted beliefs.

People will throw pebbles at you As if they have not sinned Total hypocrisy that brings bereavement in a mundane day Demons coated in an angel-like form Unbeknownst that they are sticking at the back of thy spine Shredding the cottony soft feathers Our Father meticulously crafted

Angels have been blinded by they often glance on the deep but shallow water hole Poisoning their questions and curiosity Deceiving that they have disabilities Lurking death, passing time, pilling up doubts, retreating hopes Glimpses which turns wired stares towards mysteries of uncertainty Dumping each sunrise given by the Almighty.

It serves as a reminder that Darkness might give safety and comfort in the covered bubble but staying on somber sites can make someone lost Loneliness and isolation might be thy warmth yet can turn one stationary.

Put a lighter and even a single match in thy pocket Handle it as a guide. Senses are made to feel, so better not to be deprived Eyes are meant to see the rise and fall of the morning, do not stay in gloomy chilling nights.

Softness can be cruel too One might be easily  hurt Broken glasses of tears Piercing into your cheeks

Yet, this heart still sets fire A golden flask ready to burn After soaking in water Abandoned till formed into ice

Consequences of actions Soon it'll  all be balanced Teeth are soft to bite the wicked The heat of the light will repent the sinned.