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annnndddd thats korosu :)

very hard game ngl i wanna make fanart ong

HEAVY ON THE STORYLINEEEE

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Our bodies are nothing but clay,

sculpted into flesh by the hands we walk on,

by the dirt that stains our shoes.

We are dirty, we are not pure.

Our veins flow crimson,

our hands bear the guilt of greed

that leaves its traces in our pores.

My heart is sculpted,

I view no pride,

my eyes—crooked,

I see no feeling.

We are mud, shaped to be unholy,

shaped by our love, greed, blood, and bones.

My hands link to creation,

akin to the parasites I failed to escape.

My body is to be sculpted.

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Apollo clutched my hand when you allured me to you.

His hands were stained with art, burned to hold.

He said, "Poetry will fail you. You could never write enough."

It will be religion.

He said, "Love stains like wine for others, but this will stain like blood."

The sun will shine brighter than ever.

It will be religion.

She will be religion.

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do u fw ts

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Joy Sullivan, from “At the Airport”, Instructions for Traveling West

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You are not lying on my bed before my eyes, and my hands fail to fill in the gaps between each of your fingers. Your eyes cannot reach me. And it feels as though you are as far and warm as the sun. But Darling, your voice whispers to me as if Eros himself is clutching my heart in his palms desperately. Every inch of my body begs for your caress, oh, my love, I know your hands would fit perfectly on every curve of my body. I cannot reach, but I can scream to you through endless words.  

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something out of character for this blog-

i know I'm supposed to be like a poetry blog or whatever but i do like video games and media a lot (highlighted by my extensive posts about class of 09, NANA, and amphibia) and today I'd like to talk about Minecraft --- a game I've been playing for almost 9 years (i think, i started playing pre aquatic update) and one that is my entire childhood.

I feel like it's the right time to talk about it specially because everyone's minecraft phase is coming back and theres a new movie and all

but I'd like to talk about the horror aspect of Minecraft

not Herobrine, or the null, nor entity 303 not the creepypastas and tales that most kids who've grown up on this game are subconsciously scared of but will NEVER admit----

I'd like to talk about minecraft as a horror game.

I play bedrock so this is amplified by the sheer loneliness and lack of music and the glitches but

every time I've played this game even when multiplayer I've just felt this eerie feeling of being watched---its irrational and maybe its because i don't get enough stimulation specially since i play peaceful most times as i am a builder and I'd like for my builds to stay intact.

but lately, it's like I'm playing the older versions, foggy, glitchy, and dark.

Obviously it's just glitches and bugs any game would have that but the sheer feeling of being watched is there even when you aren't alone and you have company with you.

and I've seen more people talk about this It's not new at all

maybe its a sense of nostalgia the older days of herobrine and all where you used to be scared of natural generation creating a cross

symbol of god

the fear is coming back and every time you're alone in this world you have you cant even listen to cave noises without fearing the unknown

its darker and its scarier

i dont know why

It's like this child inside me is still scared of the dark

do you feel it too when you play alone?

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for my love---

Dig your hands into my ribs and uproot my heart with all your power, feel it beating in your hands but do not dare to stand in horror, but love me when my body is all that defines frail, love me when I cannot stand without your gentle hands.

Love me when my heart tremors in your hands.

Love me even when you stand with discomfort.

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stay

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Poem for my love.

For you, my pride vanishes with such ease,

like a layer of my body shedding

to reach the soil beneath my feet.

Your call echoes through every wire of my mind,

covering every inch that was once tangled.

Your smile like no other,

like a sliver of the moon.

My love for you burns,

as bright as an angel taking the place of evil.

My love for you is even more frail and consuming

than my pride could ever be.

---

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did you miss me?

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sorry for ghosting yall again its my bday

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जावानी का असार

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Phool dena mohabbat nahi hai;

Phoolon ki tarah rakhna mohabbat hai

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I wish we were pressed flowers on the same page.

-Unknown

Ab ke ham bichhde to shayad kabhi khvabo me mile

jis tarah sukhe hue phuul kitabo me mile.

-Ahmed Faraz

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CW: hallucinations, derealization imagery, horror

I have fallen for a Ghost—, old and pure, haunting and cured. I have fallen for a ghost, she watches me.. Yes she watches me… her eyes white as the sun, they burn to look at but oh, how I would burn for them– I have fallen for a ghost she ruins my body and soul with vines and tales of who she once was– she holds me in my reflection her weight on my shoulders burden me like a void so empty, so free. She holds me in a cold embrace empty of any love– empty of a past. I’ve fallen for a ghost, in my head she haunts in my body she wanders– I wish to not, I wish to not– I have fallen for a ghost the relics of her body rots and she begs me to tell her just who that is… reeking in the dirt she screams “I am that of the air and dust” she yells ‘I am that sky your pupils so affectionately stare at’ she groans, she cries besides her own corpse and wonders just how she ha become so old, so ugly, so gray, her dress ripped her casket opened….

….Her casket opened. My hands, guilty, her casket opened, my shirt creased, her casket opened, my hands bleed, her casket opened, the graveyard screeching, her casket opened.

But she holds my hand, she holds my hand– I look into her eyes it burns, it burns, it burns… Like the sun without the chains of distance. I burn… passion she is passion she is love, affection, she is fire, she is… she is her ghost. Oh no… she is—

Oh. no. no, no, no, she is not. She moves like the mist in mountains—- she is not that of a corpse she is that of a spirit–

I feel dirty, dirty, tainted, coloured in guilt… the dirt on my palms, the maggots that eat away her flesh and her voice keeps whispering to me… she is telling me she loves me… yes— she loves me so much… but her corpse is so sickening… but she whispers and whispers in voices of my own past. Her incarnation is the ghost that I had fallen for but why must she— why must she ever scream at me why— I have fallen for a ghost. Her body like the oceans, her voice like the angels. I have dreams… many dreams, I have fallen for a ghost, not her– Oh, no, not her.