#phm#ryland grace#rocky the eridian#project hail mary spoilers
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the first breath of March gets stuck in my throat but not in the deadly way. it’s present, a tickle right behind my vocal cords sitting and waiting for the words it knows will come. an itch I can’t scratch. it does not scream. March only murmurs: “remember all those promises you wrote of spring and growth and blooming? do not lie again.”
steady springs // Olivia Larson
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feeling so aggressively alone, as if my soul has left my body and I am left as just a shell, to be molded and used by others as they please
and we wonder about our life and where it came to and does it go very far from here or does it end in an office ten years from now and does everyone feel this sad sometimes or are we the only ones not making enough efforts to be happy?
-gazergirl // when we sat quietly and thought
Old Friend
The shy, inconspicuous smile,
your lips curl into from a mile, set
my sinking boat afloat. Age old
masquerade, in a flash, refashions
itself into an honest mess.
The sound of his
damn smile, lulls the cacophony
of my mind to sleep. Watching him grin
gleefully, like vinyl record of cherry wine
playing on loop. Scatters moonlight,
his warm smile. Gateway to
my soul, it has become. Oh,
how deftly my paper walls crumble, at
the sight of that serene smile, echoing
his sacred name.
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I press my palms
Like a hysteric inarticulate force
Against your whole silhouette
All day and night.
Hoping to find a rib, a muscle somehow
That may let me believe
In the birth of your presence perhaps,
And grant me a soulful redemption
From the coarse veil of cruel thought
About god being dead
Scratching my skin
Making it bleed clumps of perplexion.
But all I find
Are the ephemeral clouds
Of your moods and desires,
That touch me once
And vanish into
An endless shadow of yourself.
**Week Twenty-Eight:**
i. The holy mountain
ii. Magic dust
iii. No redemption
iv. God is dead
v. Armageddon on a Sunday
Stars watch my soul
They shine brighter
For my every battle won
They rain valour lights in agony
For misery of my heart
They worship the moon
For my health
For every sacrifice
They shed onehalf of Their wealth
When I see the curtain of night
Falling on the once bright sky
I take it as my call
As they are none less
than fierce women
with long forgotten
yet burning pall
When I see the curtain of night
Feeding on the dim lit sky
I take it as my call
For my atoms belong with them
And they shall guide me
Till I halt
-S.
