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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
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@sserpent1ne
PSA: i check every account that comments on my works, so i know well and good if you are a scammer. do not bother. thank you.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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curse of tinnitus
curse of manual breathing
curse of word you can't remember
you're welcome ✨
someone tell @ao3org that the next update should be a way to filter works marked for later
Frequently Asked Questions [Log-036]
you write a lot about death, do you want to die?
not anymore.
not for a long time now.
but even if i still wished it so,
death does not want me.
she does not wait by the door
for any of my blood.
in my family,
we live long.
despite the terrors.
be it torn flesh or broken bone,
the inevitable recovery is all we know.
always the most minimal risk
from fatal incidents--
time after time after time.
i am no different.
many times
i've kissed the reapers neck.
but the hand never reaches,
and the scythe never swings.
sickness strikes once
and then never again.
our bodies decay before our brains
and we twist into living remains.
we are our own coffins.
waiting.
"a miracle,"
every damn time.
this is why
i do not fear her.
she never lurks in my shadow,
never glances my way.
a ghost to the mother
of all the dead things.
the irony does not escape me.
i know
that when i finally drift into the nothing,
i will be rotting already--
above the earth, walking.
i've never broken my bones,
nor ever quite managed to drown.
neither have i suffocated in my slumber,
despite so many encounters.
piercings heal in half the time,
and pain is only pressure.
i go wherever.
i do it all.
because in my family,
we live long.
02:29 17 December 2025
Frequently Asked Questions [Log-008]
how do i know if my poetry is good?
there has never been such a thing
as 'good.'
in the world of art
there is only
those things which hold captive the heart
and tug at the soul.
those things that haunt.
those things that haunt.
ceaseless.
the first thing i ever learned
about the way of writing,
is that it lives.
it carries you,
the words come without your permission.
there is a sentience
in a way,
and isn't all life precious?
you teach it to walk
with a gift of the first sentence,
and then it runs.
and all you can do
is hold it's hand
and watch.
a writer is a god,
and religion teaches us
that gods can do no wrong.
you are your own governor,
so fear no failure.
if a writer is a god,
there will exist atheists
who will not be moved.
and just the same,
there will come the devout
and the faithful--
those who worship words.
so bring forth the yearning
so they can never look away.
pick up the pen
and prosper.
20:18 11 December 2025

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Frequently Asked Questions [Log-004]
where can i find inspiration?
in anything that stirs the slumbering heart.
look around.
up at the sky any time the sun becomes the moon.
when the stars blink awake.
walk in a quiet park and listen closely
to the nothing.
an old slide.
an abandoned skate park.
the snow-laden earth in the dark streets
of a sleepy town,
where the street lights still burn orange.
a stray cat devouring a bird barely-breathing,
but breathing nonetheless.
perseverance.
unlit hallways.
dilapidated concrete landmarks.
local teens smoking weed under a bridge
in the chill of autumn.
remember youth
and nostalgia.
feel the rhythm of the you that still breathes.
put it in a cup
and dump it on a page.
the rest comes later.
23:34 13 December 2025
Frequently Asked Questions [Log-017]
when do you die?
you die when its all been done.
do what you like,
live your dream and such--
or try to.
have hopes
and then see them through.
and when you no longer have the want,
or perhaps outlive the regret
of wishing more,
it's time to go.
it's terrible of me,
really truly awful,
but just today
a dear friend of mine told me
if her lover ever left,
she would go away too.
and i said
i wont be there
to see it happen
but that i would hold her hand
until she was ready
to go.
i don't want her to go,
to succumb to the forever-dream.
but i could not stop her
if that was her desire.
because she wants for nothing else.
she has no dreams,
no plans,
except those that feature a family.
and she fears.
and i fear for her.
and he is the last.
but in my heart,
i know,
it will never come to that.
and this is when
i take comfort in the fact
that i am never never wrong.
02:12 17 December 2025
Frequently Asked Questions [Log-001]
what is a poem?
it is the song of the heart.
it cannot tell its own stories
so let it speak to you
be the words it cannot conjure
and listen.
19:43 11 December 2025
ode to the wretched
strip my flesh
and chew my bones,
salt the earth
and wreck my home,
this is where the fight belongs.
i have always layed here.
call my name
in the dark,
i'll be there
to miss the mark.
things are rough
and im half spent.
this life has been
way past when.
i am always out there.
shut my doors
and lock me in.
my face is pale
my freckles lost
here am i
withering to dust.
have you ever seen me?
shoot my foot
and kick my head,
use your words
to slice my neck.
see me now
above the dead,
and know that i
haven't tried to end you
(there is time yet)
snatch my tongue
and crush my teeth,
make sure i
cannot speak.
you have never known me.
sometime in october 2025
psalm for the beloved
i love her.
i love her.
because
when i asked
if she would like to know my secrets--
the truths i have coveted
for as long as i've lived.
the terrors of me
which i only voice in the dark,
the faces of me that should frighten any other--
she said with all the confidence in the world:
"yes. yes i would."
and that was more than anyone
had ever ever done.
and so i told her.
and after everything
she had the gall to whisper
"i still love you,"
slaying me in the sweetest way.
and i will never be the same.
but i suppose
this is the way it's always been.
i fear i'd slit any throat
if only she asked.
i'd walk straight into traffic
if she was holding my hand.
i'd wage war.
there would be casualties.
there would be casualties.
and terrific violence
to soothe my damned soul.
a bath most abhorrent
in the smoldering flesh and bone.
a feast.
if only she asked.
devotion.
i think this is devotion.
it consumes me--
she consumes me.
and who am i to deny her so?
i'd drown myself to curry her favor.
and i can only hope
that in return
she'll come to crave my flavor.
16 october 2025 17:37

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meet cute: it's raining and I see your battered bleeding body lying in the mud and I kick it slightly to see if you're dead
brine of womb, it sickened me too
i fear that i am a terror.
something wicked and incurable
twisted from the womb.
i fear i was brined in vinegar
rather than in broth
i have been cruel.
i am still cruel
but the people i have loved
look me straight in my eyes
and proclaim me their savior
in their eyes i am kind
but had they looked at me in those quiet moments
when i could smell their misery
and asked me earnestly
wholly and without a doubt
if i would slay them
i wouldve.
and i fear
even through their bloodied teeth
and a dagger through the soul
they wouldve coveted me still
as their hero
2 november 2025 19:50
hey. good luck with everything, okay? [cutting the rope connecting your boat to the dock] just good luck. [starts pushing your boat further towards the stream] just have a good luck out there
[not noticing I'm drifting out to sea] Meow meow meow meow! Meow meow meow~
good luck! good luck!
hero
with tar coated fingers
and a mouth made of wounds,
it takes everything
and comes back for seconds.
it gnaws on my collarbones
and gnashes at my ankles.
it feeds on me
and there is no remorse.
after so long in the mirror
i find a terrible truth:
"you are no-ones hero"
and i crumble into ash and soot.
i am lost to a nameless past.
i am the forgotten.
...and i am no-ones hero.
3:38 am
august 27, 2025
sickness
my flesh
outgrows me.
up and out,
away from my place in the sand.
faster, faster--
i cant keep up.
what are these bumps?
the casing of my being,
it abandons me.
it spreads
like the boils of plague
down my arms
and across my breast.
they ache--and my hips too.
without warning.
sharp and merciless.
beneath my rightmost rib
at the bottom of the ladder,
a knife.
i measure
puncture per breath.
my body abandons me
and i wilt
and i wither
in the silent decay.
in the gentle swaddle of a slow death.
and i wonder
if this is the only way.
7:57 pm
august 10 2025

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on death
because the fifth time
was the first time
and
on the tile in the bathroom,
dying for the last first fifth time,
my eyes glued shut
and head too-worn,
all that i could conjure
was that
i thought it would be different.
(death was so much quieter than i'd imagined)
(it's never been quite like this.)
seven lifetimes i never lived
and the girl i never got to love,
(i saw her in my memories
of a past i'd yet to live)
i wondered
would they miss me?
and through the haze
a voice--
a moment,
and then a memory.
(the words are lost to me)
and what would my family think?
still as a corpse
and twice as cold
burning from the inside
as peace meets regret
(i wish my sister were here)
would they be disappointed?
that my precious words
to be the last
were drowned in the vomit--
all i let pass
(would they resent that i was silent?)
i pondered
and pondered
until i slept.
8:24 pm
june 19
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