M.C.

postscript.mc

Masterlist of own Writings:

🌦🌱🌻💐

{...Calm after the Storm}

{From Quiet Roots to Sunlit Glows}

{Late Bloomer, It's in your Second Nature}

📚🔖✒️📜

{Bookmarked}

{As The Plot Twists and Thickens}

{The Art of Linguistic Limbo}

{A Quill is a Double-Edged Sword}

👸🧚‍♀️🪄✨️

{A Lone Maiden's Plea}

{Tale as Old as Time}

{A Cautionary Tale}

{Religiously}

{Cliché}

{Melted Candles & Midnight Wishes}

{On the Brink of Dreamscape and Daybreak}

{...Of a Pixie's Otherworldly Renaissance}

{Till Death Do Us Part}

{Mad as a Hatter, Mild as Tea}

💃🎨📽🎮

{Dancing is a Dangerous Game}

{Us on a Canvas}

{The Friction in Fiction}

{Endgame}

🥂🍾🍬🥘

{Love Drunk}

{My Sweetest Temptation}

{Insatiable}

🧘‍♀️😌🎐🐱

{Serenity in Stillness}

{Sumire}

{I want to love and be loved.}

{Either I have it all, or nothing at all.}

💘🧠💭🧲

{Follies of Wit and Wistfulness}

{Love on the Brain}

{Attracted/Repulsed}

💔🤕🥺🗡

{A Fool's Gold}

{A Lesson From Loss, Learned Too Late}

{Uncharted Depths of Deceit}

{I burn for you —}

{Lukewarm}

{Emotional punching bag}

🌟🌔☀️🪐

{Constellation of Soliloquys}

{Eclipse}

🧳✈️🚶‍♀️🚋

{All Aboard to Somewhere}

😾💢🗯👿

{Feral}

🛏🥱😴💤

{An Endless Night I Wish to Wake Up From}

{Insomia}

Collaborations with other Writers:

"Burnt in Summer, Fallen in Autumn." with WordoftheVomit

I’ve aged to know I'll be fine in time.

Though overdue, I must maroon you.

A stubborn scarlet, I per​me​ate through.

Evermore — stained in your clean slates.

Crimson like the full moon that wanes.

longer, and more often

than all the hi’s we’ve exchanged

and the times we shared.

Writings on their walls—

I learned their languages

only to bid farewell

unlost in communication.

Silence, their actions say,

is a universal tongue,

and yet it remains

foreign to me.

The same old lesson,

spoken once more

in a disparate translation.

backburners always felt like comfort,

my homemade meal of choice.

But now I leave

at the taste of the slightest spark in the kitchen,

any consuming heat turning absurd.

This feels slow and steady—

not the burn that numbs my senses,

but the warmth of a fresh soup,

what home should’ve been.

Maybe we’ll simmer in time,

and I’ll be seasoned with hope.

Or we’ll fade into vapor,

leaving me with the lingering aroma

of could’ve-beens.

God only knows.

Either He’s cooking,

or I’m cooked.

As good as dead ㅡ

words buried deep.

Barely inhaling

inside the coffin I lied in.

Affairs left hanging in the air,

without a chance to resurrect.

Fragile vessel,

a spill away from breaking apart ㅡ

overflowing with unrequited desires.

Oh, romance,

I dreaded you'd get killed

by bloody hands, of a guilty pair.

So, why mourn the crime of our encounter?

Ropes I held onto tightly,

ended with breaths taken ㅡ

windows to the soul boarded up.

Beaten by the clock,

cold-blooded, black, and blue.

Apocalyptically bad, like a walking corpse

who never exhaled

nor lived to its potential ㅡ

inaction, the lurking culprit.

Guilty ㅡ I've tried to decode you more than just a little.

In my unconcious, one invisible heartstring is tuned ㅡ our hands tangled in fiddles.

I've got my second-guesses, but a bond like this isn't for the fickle.

Engrossed in the sounds you makeㅡ

for goodness' sake!

Kisses I've longed to let roll off my tongue, but for now I'll settle with your name.

Born to be wild, say the safe word and I've never been so tame.

ㅡ M.C.

My misery is only romantic in poetry.

Ink bleeds from my paper heartㅡpassionate with every cut and cuss,

Sonnets engraved bone-deep, scars tattooed like venusian marks.

The epitome of artistry in each cruel yet soft stroke.

Wax-pressed disapprovals, personally addressed with everlasting blooms.

Like eggshells, they crumble as my fingers reach the surface.

Tense hands trample over me.

Brokenness doesn't always make a beautiful mosaic or a meaningful muse.

It isn't some deluded resilience highlighted with gold.

What a showpieceㅡa spectacle to the public eye!

In need of fixing, falling apart and jagged —

the shape of grief molded,

a foundation more rotten than golden.

Stars round her head, stellardusts in her hair.

Poignantly, the sun gave up her spotlight so the moon will be seen in the dark.

Fleeting eclipses—on borrowed time, two celestial bodies as one.

In different phases, illuminating the void left by their yearning.

ㅡ M.C.

A cosmic tale that perfectly encapsulates my indescribable and unreasonable yearning for someone unknown or non-existent, every dawn.

P.S. Might also be slightly inspired by the lore or myth of my favorite Love and Deepspace love interest, Xavier and two starcrossed lovers, Sol & Luna.

Songs that inspired this poem:

Cautious ㅡ tail tucked between trembling legs.

One foot ready, the next second fleeing for escape.

Rotten mice sneaking around ㅡ none was worth the thrill of the chase.

Classically conditioned, the cat flinched at the thought of curiosity ㅡ a crippling, beguiling killer.

She didn't live for the ninth time to be caught by the same trap.

How did the tamed prey learn to growl?

Claws sharp, a predator poised to pounce ㅡ

The id forgets mercy once provoked.

Baring teeth ㅡ you're a bite away from being chewed into pieces.

ㅡ M.C.

Going feral be like...

Songs that inspired this poem:

Swore it’d be gentle, said it would be careful.

No laying those hands on me.

With barely a touch, how have you wrapped me —

Around your finger, through the wringer?

Gasping to be respected,

in a chokehold, down bad.

ㅡ M.C.

This is how it feels to be someone's emotional punching bag.

Songs that inspired this poem:

Friends say the night is for swimming in dreams.

Yet again, I am caught in nets of overthinking for years,

Drowning in pools of my own tears.

Air-conditioned winds send my cold heart fever chills,

Keeping my cheeks moist with streams of what-ifs.

I was told sleep is cleansing,

But I fear my mind will suffocate me once I go with the flow.

Counting ships and sailing periods,

Having fun doesn't mean I'm playing.

But when I do, best believe I'll be winning.

It's on—I’ll live for sport, as the OP, not the noob.

The Game called Life will end with me on top.

Hustling and bustling,

Baggage at hand—remnants for carrying.

Tickets to express, kept in pockets,

A lover's eye treasured in lockets.

Passengers searching for room—

In this crowded world amidst pollution fumes.

There they go to their rendezvous—

Silence and snoozes muffling their scenic view.

Your train of thought—I've been dreaming to ride.

Perhaps a sleeper's luxury I can't afford—at least I tried.

Tunnels promising light at their ends,

It was godsent, to face some dead ends.

Patient for my turn, I wait behind station door lines.

I let them in, only for them to walk out—but it's fine.

Discovering my destination by stop skipping,

I got used to departuresㅡpeople coming and going.

Trains at bullet speed—I sit, watching everything pass me by.

Rail tracks don’t seem to cross, but they lead to you and meㅡoh my!

Where or which direction life takes me, I never know, and I can't ask a dime.

It doesn’t matter though—I'm always in the right places at the right time.

ㅡ M.C.

Songs that inspired "All Aboard to Somewhere" :

Watered down, I can't be too peculiar.

For the populace's taste is too particular.

At best, a flavor specifically culturedㅡ

For modern palates, at worst, overly cultivated.

Spilled words were never enticing,

Nor anyone's cup of teaㅡsteeping.

Ever so often would you care to take merely a sip?

Perhaps even indulge by drinking up to the last drip?

Something vanilla,

Something latte,

I would've been if my self-expressions weren't so guerrilla.

Conformity in fancy chinaㅡa little too late.

Burned tongues and a steaming teapot at the party,

Piping hot yet cool as mintㅡdon't I make you more thirsty?

Pouring my heart into your teacup, let's toast to my good griefㅡ

Mad as a hatter, I'm sighing in relief.

I no longer mind if you take the cake.

Might as well blow a candle for being the bigger person.

Sweet tarts and crusty crumbs, baked to give you a bellyache.

On the table, I'm serving the Cheshire to the function.

Lonesome, isn't it?—wandering the Milky Way;

An astronaut with her space, light-years away.

Shooting shots beneath dying stars,

Satellites missed the 'mix' in the signals—he wasn't the one from Mars.

As long as I shared with them the same Moon,

I let them orbit—a little, or a lot too soon.

As the planets parade and the constellations constellate,

Will this cosmic shift foreshadow my new fate?

Worlds meant to align—finally colliding;

Otherworldly galaxies, home to stardustsㅡthe living.

I count down the days until Saturn returns;

With faith in the universe—numbered are the years of my karmic patterns.

A celestial scene in sight,

captivating like Venus in the night.

Revolving around me, you found the Sun,

But, was it because I made your Earth spun?

ㅡ M.C.

Songs that inspired "Constellation of Soliloquys" :