adas-journal - Tumblr blog

[adas-journal]

The Cold

White. That’s all my eyes can see, that’s all I ever remember seeing. I’ve long forgotten the warmth that came with summer and spring, even trying to imagine their vibrancy is beyond me now. The only thing I can muster is the memory of sitting in a field of green grass, staring at the sky and wondering, how far does it go? I wondered if my mother was right about me growing tall enough to touch the sky, I thought about how the clouds would feel between my fingers.. Would they be solid? Would it dissipate when I try to put my palm over them? I had then made it my goal to sit on a cloud to see how it felt, and make sure my mother would be the first to know about this discovery. For a moment, I remembered the heat emanating from the sun onto my skin, causing sweat to collect on my brow, I miss the way the warmth hugged my skin in a reassuring way, nothing like the brutality of the bitter cold. Where warmth covered, the cold stripped bare. If summer was a time of joy, winter was a time of longing, when you’re cold all of your senses are dulled to needing to hide from it. Find warmth. Find shelter. Bear the cold to enjoy the warmth. I’m taken out of my reminiscing by the vastness in front of me, snow is a deceptor, something beautiful and pure able to kill and disable, once you lose your longing you lay down and die praying the snow can hide your disfigurement, purify the sin of letting go, letting your fire burn out. Maybe your soul could come back as a snowflake if you’re lucky. But I doubt it. I’ve considered giving in, once, twice, a few more times than I’d like to admit. But I can’t. This longing to survive extends past just me you see, I don’t live for myself but for my family. Simply dying would be killing them, I need to make it to the other side, gather myself and keep myself from spilling and freezing all over the snow. So I walk, fighting against the impossible winds pushing back against me, if snow was the winters face, the blizzards were its voice. Its sharp whistling and rustling telling me to let go and stop pushing against fate, the snow being propelled in my direction berating me for still daring to go against it, I had learnt to simply block out winter's screams, it wasn’t a voice of reason. It was a voice only serving its own interests, it tried to speak like it cared about you, from a sweet concerning gust to a belligerent hailing, I’d learn to block both out all the same, only listening to my own longing.

[adas-journal]

insecurity

Weakness. Impossibly feeble yet, mighty. Like a rodent with a magnificent shadow… and when stepped into, it swallows you whole. I sit here on the meek and infinitely green grass blades, crushed and permanently disfigured from being sat on, did they too have a soul? Did they fear the might of the man that crushed them? Do they understand how weak they are? Are they accepting of their ugliness? I stare at the moon wondering, if I have stepped into the predatory shadow that is weakness. Has it always followed me, waiting for me to falter and succumb to self doubt? I feel locked out of Eden, my forbidden fruit is the shame of disfiguration, a hardened ugliness that paints my entire body, the realization ever-crippling. I must hide, my wretchedness showing through the pores of my skin and oozing out, impurifying everything I touch. I stare at the moon and wish to be beautiful, or for strength to become my beauty.

not my best but its smth!

[adas-journal]

The Rot

Sharp, stinging pain, followed by a guttural sound only known by the creatures of the forest, the vibrations of this cry connecting me with them. I called out, and they understood. What I hadn’t known, they’d known too well.

Then it started; I had felt my will slipping from me inch by inch, the call for a place I didn’t know the location, the desperation to go thrumming in my legs. I tried to fight it, for god's sakes, I couldn’t allow this creature who’d burrowed itself into my very being to overtake me.

Right?

But, was this creature really something so foreign? So dangerous? Perhaps I should follow it. I should let it take me, it could liberate me from my suffering, maybe surrendering my will was the key to peace of mind.

So I offered it to The Creature on a silver platter, head bowed and on one knee.

This would liberate me.

My body started to change as I walked in search of this Eden The Creature had promised, my flesh rotting off of the bone, my face deforming into nothing but pink flesh and teeth. My vision is worsening by the day. I start to miss the beauty of the world and the knowing that comes with sight, but I don’t need to see, I don’t need to know. It could see for me. It could give me knowledge.

Everything aches. I start to do things I don’t want to. I have a sudden bottomless craving for human flesh, I cry as I gorge on their meat and bones. I cry for their deaths, I cry out of horror and disgust. For myself, for The Creature.

“This is your freedom. Eternal life through me. Aren’t you glad? That you can live so divinely?”

I don’t respond. Instead tears speak for me. Dreams of liberation reassure me, I was free; but, if this is freedom then why do I desperately wish to die? Die so my soul could be rid of my wretched deformed body. Of The Creature. I wish someone would kill me.

[adas-journal]

I stare at my lover with giddy smiles and shower her skin with breathless compliments and kisses that mark her like bites. Our love is a special one, indeed; less like shy glances and more like hungry gazes. Oh, she’s so beautiful it hurts. My soul is shaped like the outline of her smile, it’s not fair, the way a strand of her hair can snag my heart out of my chest to have it spread back to her like a lunch of leftovers. Effortless and taunting, like she was begging me to take her and make her my own. What choice did I have? This was what our path had led to, and what a sight it was… her pupils were larger than life, yet lifeless; Her skin devoid of its vibrance, faded into a grayish abomination of what it once was, but it’s replaced with a new glow, something that shines brighter than a thousand stars; a glow of love. I had kissed the incision I made on her skull, whispering all the things I love about her. With ragged breaths and an erratic heartbeat I had taken the brain out of her skull. Finally, she would be mine at last, all of her memories, her thoughts, her desires; forbidden or welcomed, her passion, her will would all be mine. Giving her one last kiss on her blueish purple lips, a kiss of delicious victory. My breaths, consumed with the feeling of love and pure satisfaction. At last, my ever growing hunger for her will be satiated.

“I love you.” I said, as I had consumed her identity. She lives forever through me.

[adas-journal]

הבל | hevel

This is how it goes: God whispers in Cain’s jealous ear, drawing his attention to the Sin crouched at his doorway. Sin has haunted eyes and a mouth that has been kissed. Let there be no doubt that Sin has been kissed, with a wet-red mouth that may taste of blood or pomegranate or the electric crackle of a stoplight. Cain looks at Sin. He runs his tongue over his teeth.

This is how it goes: Cain leaves the house at one am in bare feet and a hoodie, careful to avoid the last stair that creaks, and treks out into the Field. There are many fields in the world but there is only one Field. Cain feels the difference in the grass when he crosses the border from field to Field, the way the grey-green blades stand up at attention in his wake, the way the dirt turns ice-cold and furious beneath his heels. The earth is good with foreshadowing. The tree of Knowledge has deep roots.

This is how it goes: God says, I will take you or your brother.

God says, You get to choose.

And Cain says, “When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.”

I have never made brothers before, God explains. That is how I thought they were made. What more do you want?

“I want to steal some of his kindness,” Cain says, and shakes his pocket knife out of his sleeve.

Back at home, Abel sits up in his bed with a start, heart racing. That was close, he thinks, that was a damn close one, and does not know why.

In the Field, the ground warms as blood seeps into the dirt. 

[adas-journal]

Without you, I had felt a deep emptiness, a void had come to replace your presence in my life. I longed for you, saw when the sun rays crept through the blinds in the morning , how the leaves would blow in a way that resembled you, whispers of your laugh leaving with the breeze.

Anxiety and unrest would creep up from my stomach and into my words, my actions, in your absence. Without you, I was destroyed. Drifting through the earth with my heart and soul fractured, my mind and body suffering the consequences, the absence of love communicated in the lifelessness of my eyes, eyelids weighed down by regret and bitterness. Can’t you see I need you? How I crave you?

———————————-

i’ve gotten over that whole situation i just thought it’d be cool to write about how i felt 😱😱😱

[adas-journal]

Art by @vpdrawss on Instagram.

[adas-journal]

Flesh

Lust, a carnal, animalistic feeling, the hunger for skin on skin, rubbing flesh together like feral animals is a plague amongst humanity, the fulfillment of this gruesome, prehistoric longing supposedly ignites a fire of satisfaction, pleasure. The flush of skin, soft and tender, from this revered dance of useless pleasure and mindless ardor, reducing our minds to the thought of consume and need, communicating this shared fire in us, the need for touch, to remind us that we’re materialized, that we’re truly of this world. To me, that was asinine, I had no such desires for connection any longer, I had risen above the animalistic hedonism shared between humans, grew beyond the need for connection and the reassurance of my own flesh.

________________________

okay im gonna start a series where i write poems as if im sukuna. because im going through a huge sukuna brainrot rn and i STRONGLY hc that he wrote poems or at least read a ton of them

[adas-journal]

It was a boring day, skies not so blue, not quite gray either.. It was normal, average, routine. I played the same music I always listened to while driving at a red fast enough speed on the same roads I always drive on, to run the same errands I do every week. I was far past the need of change, the routine numbing me from the thought that life could’ve been anymore than what it was for me, a long drawn out routine of the same day over again, seldom broken or changed. I had grown comfortable with my slow fall into conscious unconsciousness.

That is, until I met her.

I put my car in park, carefully aligning myself into the space I had chosen, making sure I didn’t disrupt the delicate flow of things by hitting a car and landing myself a fine.

I walked towards the grocery store, a little stunned by the sudden abundance of fluorescent light, taking a second beside the carts to let my eyes adjust. I pulled one out, it obliged with metal rustling, a response I always took as a nod, silent agreement, maybe resignation? I expel the thought, putting it in the back of my mind to be picked up once the time is right, no room for thoughts in this cold dead hell of harsh lights and overbearing smells and the cold, bitter embrace of freezers. I brace myself with an exhale before entering the store, checking my list over with a glance before pushing straight into the store, automatic doors allowing my entry.

I was in the produce aisle, shoving apples haphazardly into my little plastic bag before I saw her, standing across from me, searching through mangoes like it was the most important thing in the world, like one wrong pick would just kill her and everyone in the vicinity. Her brows furrowed in such beautiful concentration, lips pursed in focus, glasses leaning low on the bridge of her nose. This moment was when I had become conscious, her very existence demanding that I pay attention, live in the moment, lift the fog from my vision.