krisharcher21

[krisharcher21]

Maybe, maybe if I stab you with my rather claws than fingernails and climb my way upto your neck you'd know how I feel when you speak. It's not the words, it's the manner in which you speak. That slight mocking tone that drives me mad, births in me a heart of lunatic analysis of you— would you ever realise how many nights I've spent dissecting your words and finding meanings in prickly silences. You don't, and you'd never.

You make me nothing but an animal, an animal who feasts upon hatred. I'm a mean dog who growls at you, a cat whose paws leave scars, anything that seems objectively scary but in its heart it just longs for a home of comfort and love. On days you hurt me, which are way too many days, there's an urge to just give into it. To succumb to the deadliest of lunacies. To bite open your calf and tear at your flesh until you finally, finally fear me. If not love, I want you to be afraid of me. Make me your beast; or a God. It doesn't really matter, both are the same to me. I just want to become what you truly think I am, solely so I could show you the difference. Would you think I was better before when I have my teeth painted with blood and overgrown nails– that you forgot to trim– filled with skin I tore. Filled with you? Would you think I was better before? That I'm better now?

[krisharcher21]

You kissed my dry mouth and my lips cracked with love

The pain seeps out, too much but never enough

You said you wound up in Tennessee

I was looking for a place no one would recognise my face

Someone else to be

You said you went south like a bird in the cold

You just wanted to get out before you are too old

You said we’d wind up in Normandy

I’d watch you dance in the rain then you’ll leave me again

Somewhere else to be

You’re prettier under streetlights

They really bring out your eyes

In the dark no one can see

All that you really mean to me

It’s killed so many

But it’s medicine to me

I’m dead already

There’s nowhere I need to be

Sadness madness and other drugs

I’ve been following your veins

Hoping I’ll reach your heart one day

[krisharcher21]

Perfect Bows

I'm a present you got on you birthday.

The wrapping paper was too glittery and glitter had stuck all over your hand and the colour of the ribbon didn't go with the gift paper at all. But the thing that caught your eyes was the bow, it was the most perfect tied bow you had ever seen. So you keep the present in a safe corner, itching with the need to unwrap it then and there. But you wait.

You got many gifts that night, smaller and much bigger than that unusual present, but you kept thinking of it anyways. And When everyone had went and you mind had gone haywire with the need to see what's inside of it, you finally retrieved that present. With eager fingers you had torn the glittery wrap into pieces and ruined the perfect bow.

Inside was the head of you decapitated mother.

I'm just a girl who isn't beautiful or perfect, not even close, but constantly tries to be. And in my efforts I might appear eye-catching to some, but when you finally strip me off my facade and protective layers, all you'll find in my bones is deeply engraved ugliness and love, or the obliterating longing for it.

[krisharcher21]

God @palatablepain you're SOOOO SWEET 💗💗💗 love you!!! I love you're writings so much as well you inspire me sm <3

I can only think of @ardenla at this moment because I'm so obsessed with her short stories! She writes in an awesome way and perfectly captures the emotions she wants to portray! Her haunted stories are always mind blowing!!!!

Share The Love!

We're just getting to know each other today, so use this post to recommend a writeblr whose work you love.

[krisharcher21]

I love this so much OMFG!!!!!!!

I'd kill to have read this when I was a child! This is sooooo cuteeee

The Princess Who Saved the Prince

[every once in a while i have to write a feminist fairytale]

Once Upon a Time --

there was a princess who saved a prince. There were lots of blue and purple flowers -- forget-me-nots - around the prince's tower, and it looked very easy to access from the outside, but was very hard in actuality, because, you see, the stones were so tall and thick. It was difficult to climb so high or drill so far. The princess decided that instead, she was going to wait and see how the prince got his food. If she just hid long enough, surely a rope would be let out the window, or a magical gryphon would fly through with a woven basket full of victuals. Perhaps a cook would climb up a stairwell hidden behind a secret door. Perhaps the prince would cry out magic words from his window and an invisible spirit of the wind would bring fruit with its graceful, white hands. Maybe a witch needed to gesture and make incantations from the base of the tower, and it would briefly fall apart only to rebuild itself after food was sent up to the prince. Perhaps a tutor with two armfuls of books would bring a meal three times a day. Perhaps servants who cleaned the tower in their official uniforms would make sure the prince was otherwise in good health. Surely someone would care about the prince? Surely he was not there alone? Surely someone would at least visit on his birthday? Surely he had a fairy godmother?

In silver armor the princess waited, ready to draw her sword and shield. The sun shone golden rays all day. It grew so warm in the underbrush that the princess took off her armor.

High above, the prince, under the pointed, round roof of his tower, felt the warmth, but he saw none of it, and it hurt him. He felt faint and fell on his bed.

It was only at sunset that he awoke and slowly dragged himself to the tower's single window to look at the sky, as he was wont to do each night. The tower faced west, and he could watch the sun sink behind the land, and chart the stars, and wait for the clouds to bring welcome rain.

The tower was so far from the ground that he could see no distinct object below, only color, variations in green, and the occasional glint of a brook.

Now, at this moment, in the low light of the sunset, he saw the glint of the princess's armor, her horse's armor, and her weapons, all in one big pile.

The prince had to catch his breath, for he had not seen someone near his tower in many years. He could not believe his eyes. Was it the magic wand of a fairy to rescue him? Was it a mining machine to dig his tower to the ground? He did not know, but he knew he was enchanted by this glint. He had never seen light touching something so close to his tower.

He realized that it was rather like a candle when it touched a mirror with its reflection.

So, eager to reciprocate intelligence to the thing below, he carried his mirror and a hoarded candle to the humongous ledge of his window.

Below, the princess looked up, and saw the glint of the flame against the mirror. Immediately, she got off her knees and stood. The window was so far that she could not see the prince or the candle alone, but the candle and the mirror together made a distinct signal.

"He is there!" she said to her horse. She had begun to doubt that life could live in the tower.

"So go get him," the horse said. "I'm tired of waiting."

The princess held some armor against the last light of the sun and used a language of signs to send a message up to the tower window.

The prince could not see the princess, but he could see the flashes of light, and how long they lasted. He knew the secret language from reading his esoteric magician books, so he used the mirror to make a message back to the princess.

"How can I save you?" the princess asked, quickly.

"You must climb up here with a rope made of hair," he said . . . for that was the magic.

The princess spent the next day cutting her hair, her horse's hair, and the hair of anyone in nearby villages she could pay. When her money ran out, she sold her armor, and the horse's, to the silversmith. And then she sold her horse's shoes to the blacksmith. She was left with nothing, but at least she knew how to braid, so she sat down for many days and many nights, braiding all the hair together in a chain long and sturdy enough to make its way to the window.

When the chain was ready, she realized she had no way to communicate with the prince anymore, having no armor to make flashes with in the light of the sun. Therefore, she went to the forest house of a witch and asked how to get the rope of hair to the window of the prince's.

The witch gave a sad smile and said, "If you give up your human voice and take on the voice of a bird instead, you can call the birds and ask them to take the rope to the window."

The princess immediately gave up her voice, knowing it was the right thing to do, and the witch put it inside an acorn shell so that she could get it back later ... the princess would have to bring the witch money to get it back.

In debt to the witch, and with only the voice of the bird, the princess re-emerged from the forest house and looked into the canopy of trees. She called the birds with chips and tweets and caws.

Soon, an amount of birds strong enough to carry the heavy rope of hair to the window had assembled.

Once they had wrapped the hair safely around supports inside the tower, they told the prince that the princess was going to climb up to the window.

The prince was ecstatic to see the birds after so many years in loneliness, but their message worried him, for the princess might fall.

He opened his magic books and spoke a spell to keep her safe.

The princess climbed up the rope safely and saw the prince hunched over his desk as he spoke the words.

"I'm here," she said, using his candle and mirror. "You're safe. How do we get out?"

"I don't know everything," said the prince.

"Yeah, but close enough," said the princess, again with the candle and mirror. "Enough of that now. Let's keep things efficient like usual."

"Well," said the prince, "we're too heavy together for the rope, and we are only allowed by the magic to get out together, so we have to take apart the tower, piece by piece."

"Maybe this is a stupid question," said the princess, frowning, "but why didn't you start already?"

"Only an outsider knows where the right place to start is," he said. "I don't know how many days are in a year anymore, and none of my books tells me."

The princess refrained from asking any more questions and listened as he listed the methods of addition and subtraction, multiplication and division, they would have to use to count the bricks in the tower and use the magic formula of days in the year to locate the right one.

When they finally located the brick, it came out easily, without any trouble. The rest of the bricks around it came out easily, too. As long as they started with the right brick and continued in a spiraling mathematical pattern downwards, they were able to make progress. It took so long to take apart the tower, they lost track of the time.

The prince shared his food with her. It was plants growing on the window ledge. (He had been very hungry for a long time.) The princess used her bird voice to call the birds, who brought them other types of food from the forest and villages, too.

It got more pleasant to take apart the tower as time went by. The breezes played about them, and the prince finally could see the light of the rising and midday sun again. The princess couldn't talk, but they developed a way of knowing what each other wanted by nudging each other, looking at each other's faces, and pointing at things.

The prince and princess were always aware that they were taking apart the tower, but they enjoyed each other's company.

The prince wanted to use his money to buy back the princess's voice from the witch, but when they finally got to the witch's house, she and the acorn were gone.

The princess showed the prince that her hair was all gone from having woven it, and her armor was all gone from having selling it, and now she didn't even have a voice.

The prince said that even when she couldn't talk he loved her. He also said that he didn't mind that she didn't have pretty princess hair or that she didn't have any armor.

The princess told the prince that she didn't mind that he was a billion years old from having been in the tower so long. She didn't mind that he was hopelessly old-fashioned and obsessed with books, either.

So they got married. Oh, did I mention the princess loved the prince? Yeah, she did. She even loved him enough to take him along on her horse to find the witch and get her voice back.

So they rode off into the sunrise.

The End

@brb-on-a-quest @walkthruthewords @inspirationallybored @krisharcher21 @the-horcrux-hung-itself @the-hollow-quiet @hersurvival @genericemobitch @choasuqeen

[krisharcher21]

To the devil, she said.

To the devil she said and laughed; loud.

A shrill and loud but lifeless sound.

Tell me darling?

Why do the dead scream the loudest?

I was fascinated by her, the way her soul decayed– a grave of flowers that I know once bloomed.

She was made of withered petals of quiet mourning,

I could recognise in her a spine so rotten— what fascinated me is that it still withstood her agony.

I've only seen her cry one of all years I've known her.

One night, she came to me.

Leaving behind traces of maroon blood,

She curled in my lap- but didn't cry;

She never cried, as if she had simply given up on it, simply given up on mourning.

And with a trembling and quite voice, she said

"they killed me, they took away everything." And pointed to her bloody heels.

I cleaned the blood- but I don't think it ever stopped bleeding. She told me it never did.

I've loved her a little too.

Loved her for I've always wanted to save her- from everything, from herself.

But she laughed and said I'm crazy.

In her quietest nights—

I lingered in her room in a desperate attempt to know her a little more.

And I saw her begging with a shaky, uncertain voice.

Begging for forgiveness, and I realised in a way I should've known that.

For I've always seen her atone- in quiet but the most crucial ways.

Then when I listened closely– I realised,

She wasn't talking to her god.

She was talking to me.

She was me.

But how could I ever, ever forgive her?

[krisharcher21]

Awhhh thankyou for the tag!!!

@ardenla @we5teru @speedlimit15 @homunculus-argument

But ofcourse anyone who finds this can join.

I also tagged some of the randomest people so I'm sorry if we haven't interacted after one post, ¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

pinterest search: lyrics. place. outfit. character. color. aesthetic.

Thank you @marcelthefemme! Didn't have to hold me at gunpoint, but I appreciate the enthusiasm😂

Tagging @ghostlament @thckskulll @dyke-dyke-goose @elviradyke @butch-ings

[krisharcher21]

When I first started writing, it was actually a novel. Except I didn't knew it's plot and had to delete it.

Honestly I always wanted to write, but I'm not very good to come up with plots, so I wrote short stories basically- for myself.

I think that was a good exercise for me! And I also read alot of novels so the vocab sort of improved. I only started writing poems like two years ago, and I found out i liked it best among all other forms of writings.

I only randomly write poems. And yes you're so right, I can't work with prompts either. But when I literally cannot think of anything, they can be a little useful.

It's 9 and I'm trying to fucking survive with the guilt of not being enough and trying to be creative in a way that thoughts would just come to me. They don't. I'm a fucking disappointment. And it's even worser because I'm loved despite of it kdkdkdkddk. ARGH

[krisharcher21]

Sending hugs as well!!!

reblog this to hug me

[krisharcher21]

Im just so frustrated bc it doesnt seem fair that your skills can degrade over time. i LEARNED IT😭

[krisharcher21]

It's 9 and I'm trying to fucking survive with the guilt of not being enough and trying to be creative in a way that thoughts would just come to me. They don't. I'm a fucking disappointment. And it's even worser because I'm loved despite of it kdkdkdkddk. ARGH

[krisharcher21]

And you sang a rather depressed lullaby,

The kind of sorrow that I'm not used to hear in your voice,

On the podium of my corpse.

I'm now gray and discarded.

But look at you,

Still shining, like the stars you talk so passionately about.

The tears in your eyes,

They fall like comets on my heart.

Burning away the silent defences of restraint.

I wish I could reach out,

I wish I could hold your hand and say that I still love you,

I will always love you.

Until the stars in every loving heart burn dead,

Until the dust of your eyes form a new galaxy,

Until the universes collide and birth a modern God,

And beyond, long after that.

How many light years apart are we on those alien planets of harsh rocks and deadly gases?

And how hard does the lightning strike the azure sky there when our lips finally meet?

I wonder.

You're the Stardust my soul is made of, love.

I'm now grey and very dead,

And you're still shining like the stars did when we first met.

I'm sorry my darling,

I cannot hold you anymore.

But I hope you hear the ghosts of my claps in the sea of your audience.

And I hope you know that I love you.

I'll always love you, my dearest.

My eternal moon princess.

[krisharcher21]

i like the phrases "it's not for me," "it's not my thing," and "i'm not the target audience" because they're the most concise way to express "this thing that you enjoy has merits but idgaf about it" without being aggressive

[krisharcher21]

hate when I'm trying to just take a normal drink but it turns out I'm thirstier than I thought so I end up gulping it down like a goddamn cartoon characer. the indignity of water lust.

[krisharcher21]

LYSMMM IM SO HAPPY I THINK IM GOING TO BURST INTO GALAXIES

MET MY LONG DISTANCE GIRLFRIEND. I MET MY DROP DEAD GORGEOUS, PRETTIER THAN THE SEAS AND THE SKIES, ABSOLUTELY FUCKING ETHEREAL WIFE.

[krisharcher21]

MET MY LONG DISTANCE GIRLFRIEND. I MET MY DROP DEAD GORGEOUS, PRETTIER THAN THE SEAS AND THE SKIES, ABSOLUTELY FUCKING ETHEREAL WIFE.

[krisharcher21]

what will it be, boss ❓️