coldagain

[coldagain]

you, in the silence of spring

I. The First Look

The petals open quietly,

softly,

like warmth gathering in the pit in your stomach

where it was never meant to be.

You watch spring arrive into your deserted wintry palace, and for once, it stays—

It settles, on your shoulder,

in your lap, in your hair,

and suddenly, the bloom is everywhere.

II. The Eyes

The grief-pale hue changes,

slowly—

turns the colour of a breath held too long

a secret whispered against sun-warmed skin.

It reminds you of the sunlight trapped in those brown eyes, laugh lines,

a soft gaze, a blur of city lights—

You run, but it's never far enough,

like a swallow,

you return, into waiting arms.

III. The Smile

The dip of the petals is gentle in your calloused hands,

reverent—

like the curve of a smile that sends temors down your spine.

It's the way the streetlights flicker at dawn,

redundant, yet certain—

as you write and write, trying to capture it all.

You write about the way warmth follows skin,

and the spring follows winter.

IV. The Skin

The petals press against each other, delicate,

fragile—like a lover’s cheek brushed against your palm,

tender in the ways of a lullaby.

It promises you stars from the constellations

you draw lazily on soft skin—

You trace your own name, over and over,

as if to make it stay.

You hope it stays.

V. The Breath

The winds stir, and you catch a whiff of the coming summer rain,

the flowers tremble—

Quietly, the petals fold in over themselves,a futile act of self-preservation.

But it's a surrender toothe kind of surrender you can’t help but tremble under—

It is the softest exhale after the first rainstorm,

a declaration that you were here,

and that you loved.

VI. The Memory

You remember it all of a sudden,

at a little perfume shop on the other end of the world—

The sweet scent, the faint flutter of the petals falling and falling,

the taste of cherry lips and cherry pastries and cherry wine.

You remember the aftermath, and the withered petals crunching under your shoes.

You remember,

and you let it be enough.

(Fuck. I love this human.)

[coldagain]

confession

you press your lips against my blood-stained knuckles, and I wonder if heaven forgives sinners

you walk into the room like you own the damned place,

sparkling, a god descended among the common humanity,

saviour, sinner,

and I lose my breath.

That scent clinging to your shirt,

reminding me of summers I had once loved,

that smile on the corner of your lips,

that silver cross hanging off your neck—

ah, you.

my saviour, my sinner.

the Jesus on the wall stays silent,

as I pace my prison,

up ten steps, down ten steps,

think of your hands folded in prayer,

think of your hands worshipping me,

think not, think not.

I think of you in white, and then I want to see you,

to see you see me walking down the aisle, veiled against

the devotion in your eyes, the same one that you get during service,

ah, you.

sinner, would you pray for me?

who are you, Salvatore? A sinner, or a saint?

who told you that you are either?

holy man, pray for me,

pray for me, because I am parched

I spend afternoons wishing for your hands in my hair,

holding me, holding the sinner you love to pardon.

father, forgive me,

the white dress is blood red,

and I can't wash it off.

you meet my eyes across the room,

and in your eyes, I see it all,

hatred, pity, disgrace.

I smile at you, all teeth and lips,

and you look away.

Are you scared, Salvatore?

Are you afraid that I'll steal your divinity?

ah, you.

gentleman, god, saint.

you press a kiss against my hand when you meet me,

and you later wonder why sinners have the softest hands.

Salvatore, kiss me when the cathedral bells ring,

they'd hide my racing heart, and the soft sighs you heave,

I've been good, and I no longer wish to be.

kiss me when the Sunday sun sets,

teeth, lips, teeth, lips.

I'm a sinner, my love,

wilted, wasted, watered, and—

ah, you.

You enigma, you goddamned fool.

You never touch my face, and I shiver

as your phantom settles beside me as I confess.

I'll yearn for a while longer, Salvatore.

Until the church closes for the day, and they chase away the sinners

begging at its doors.

(yes, I listened to salvatore by lana del rey while I wrote this :))

[coldagain]

snowglobe

i once bought a snowglobe

And pictured that the boy in it

would sing me the same melody

over the static of my flatlined heart

it sings, like a siren, like a wisp.

You sing me to sleep

and i convince myself

that snow is yet to fall.

we were never going to run,

and I wish I could tell you

it was a pointless warm-up,

stay only for the thrill, only the hum.

for the tap tap of my fingers flying

over the keyboard,

for the daily heartbreak,

stay for the way the boy doesn't dance in the snowglobe.

what doesn't kill me makes me stronger,

and my friends hold me through this chant,

like a coven around the boiling cauldron

of my screams, of my useless youth,

hoping it transforms the prince back into the ugly frog.

the snow never arrives in this tropical town,

and i curse the stars for burning

and yet, what is left to do but burn?

(how do you know if it's a crush?)

[coldagain]

what if I rip my skin?

do i find the little girl in the mirror again?

[coldagain]

little mr. sunshine

little mr. sunshine turns pink when I walk into the room,

pulls out a chair,

asks me how my day's been,

sometimes, i have to look away

from his wide-eyed adoration.

I pretend not to know

selfishly, to keep this little bit of love,

my friends say i'm cruel,

but i'm broken,

and the fractures on my skin deepen and deepen.

little mr. sunshine doesn't give up on love,

even though i turn him down,

his smiles turn a bit sad,

but they never go away,

and my friends say I've been hasty.

I shouldn't dwell on my heartbreak,

and let little mr. sunshine brighten my cloudy day,

but my mind's hell,

and if he doesn't leave before it's too late,

he'll soon learn to love the rain.

(I just want to fall in love the way I did the first time.)

[coldagain]

hey, ar u still alive;;;

- old timey pal

@oldtimeypal only on the outside :,)

[coldagain]

invitation to join crew

To the Hon'ble First Mate of "The Fire Dragon",

Have you ever heard of the phrase "In-yun"? It is somewhat of a theistic concept— that everyone in our life is there because we were connected in a past life. It says that we need to accumulate thousands of layers of fates and choices and destinies, and only then can we meet someone in this life. Even the people we had mindlessly passed by on the street. And you're so much more than a stranger. Sometimes, I wonder how we've met in the other lifetimes.

It's raining outside right now, and I'm at my desk. It's slightly cold here, and the rain is relentless. I should really start on with with this. It's your eighteenth birthday, after all! I should remind you of our pact to run away together, haha. Sorry if I'm being weird I've already taken so much time wondering about what I should write to you. I don't know if I am very good at wording things. I hope this makes some semblance of sense, at least.

There are people you meet because you're destined to, and there are people you meet because you choose to. Sometimes, it scares me how close we've come to never knowing each other. But I'm so happy, so ecstatic that I did. That I remember the exact moment we were talking about life and love and the universe and I was thinking— oh. this is a moment I'll remember for the rest of my life.

And I do. I do.

I won't write about us. I don't know what we are anymore. But I still remember all of our mornings and afternoons and nights. You were— no, you are my best friend! I'll always care about you. Always. My new friends always ask who's that in the picture when they come over to my house. It's the one where we had so many ice-creams that we couldn't stop sneezing. I had it framed, and put on my nightstand. Who would dare forget us! We are going to be the most famous pirates in the world!

I hope you've been taking care of yourself, and that you get into fewer fights with your awful temper. I know that you're working hard, so make sure to take breaks sometimes, okay? You care about so many things, and I won't ask you to stop, because that's who you are. That makes up you to me. It's so envying sometimes, how you love so freely. But when it gets a little harder to love on bad days, I hope you can put yourself first. Remember that. You observe, and you're there. You never let anyone feel alone. There are so many things I know about you, but there are so many that I don't anymore. I haven't talked to you in a while, have I? Did you finally grow out of your weird pineapple fascination?

It's a foolish dream— but I really want to think it'll come true someday— that we'll become friends again someday, and that we can actually backpack through the whole world like we had always planned to! It's inevitable that we had grown up, maybe apart, and we would never ever be the same again. We would lead different lives. But as much as I'm scared to death, even if you think i'm being too demanding, I'm hopeful for the future. Perhaps, it'd be miserable, but oh, wouldn't that be so exciting as well? Not knowing where we'll end up that day? We'd be happy, I'm sure. You deserve it. I hope that you can learn to love yourself. I hope that you forgive the person you used to be, the person you couldn't, and the one you want to be. I hope that you can shamelessly, proudly, happily, be yourself. I hope you are happy.

We just— grew up so fast, didn't we?

I miss you

With regards,

The Savage Captain of "The Fire Dragon".

(I just miss my best friend)

[coldagain]

-

falling behind,

falling apart,

falling, down, down

down.

do i ever fly?

[coldagain]

old dogs

all bark, no bite

what good is a dog anyway

if it doesn't protect my good suburban home?

if it doesn't fit in my christmas card aesthetic,

would it not be better to put it down?

my old dog lost its devotion

it backs away in the line of fire,

shivering, ears drooped,

under my couch.

tragedy, isn't it?

such a good dog like this, learning to defend itself?

I'd picked it up from a shelter,

for a good price

It appeared so useful, so brave,

a good guard dog for my dream suburban house.

but it lost its teeth

but it's getting soft

Now it growls at me, that ungrateful bitch!

i'll put her down tomorrow night

make sure to keep it real quiet, y'know?

yes, it'll be hard on my wife

(oh, such a good dog, useful dog)

but

a dog should be put down when it gets old

Isn't this mercy?

(hey, y'all! Like I had predicted, I did burn out :D. ah, to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.. but I hope you've been well! And yeah, hope you've enjoyed this bit of an abstract take! <3)

[coldagain]

The Great Tsunami

Once, I wrote you a poem

And you loved it

And you loved me

But what you didn't know, is that I wrote you three more after you said you didn't want me and I cried

I cried tsunamis and hurricanes

And I guess you could say I'm not over it

Because whenever I see her I feel a knife through my chest

A sharp pain

One that only you could inflict

And of course you love her now

I get it

She has a smile like the full moon

One that you have to stop and look at to see if it's real

It's mesmerizing

It engrosses you

And you've always been one to worry about looks

Well look

That's shallow

But I know

That the girl who writes poetry every time she feels an emotion is not what you wanted at all

I was merely the bus stop to your real destination

Some kind of

Procrastination

I was nothing

To you

Yeah, I get it

A girl who can light up a room is one you wanna keep, man, she's special

But I thought I was special too

See what kept me going was

You

And you were all that I wanted so I just gotta ask

Why'd you do it?

I hate to say this but I hope she breaks your heart

I hope you tell me

Every grueling detail

And the excuse she had

Because even though you'll be sad you'll understand the devastation you caused me, and all those countries that had to live with the great tsunami.

- d.

[coldagain]

Routine

So. Ma asked about you again.

She's concerned, she says. But I can see through her. She is just one step removed from all of those people who had debated for hours why you could've tried to kill yourself. Artificial sympathy and the shaking heads. Kids these days— You'd be pleased to know that they didn't water down your ruthlessness to me. It was like you had always wanted: dramatic, shocking.

You once said that our little town is detached, as if somehow it broke off from the rest of the world. Nothing interesting happens here, and you hated it. People here are boring. We could make the same jokes day after day, and everybody would still laugh. Routines, routines, routines. You were driven half-mad with them. But now you were almost dead, and I wonder if this was your plan all along. Perhaps you thought that if you died, you'd become like those characters who had stories written about them. Those perfect girls you had always envied, who had things happening to them. And you said nothing ever happens here.

But you didn't die. And it was worse. It was like watching an ocean wave, the way the story spread from person to person. Overblown, exaggerated, each time it was retold. They came to our house three hours later. Don't worry. I had made sure not to react. No one suspected anything.

After all, we're not friends.

Ma had opened the door that evening, and two of them came in. I hold a particular dislike for the older one, so I had tried to leave. But something about them tonight kept me there, tied to the floor. They sat, commented on the weather. Like I said, routines. You could see the barely reigned impatience in the way they fidgeted, in the way they wiped off their foreheads. Tea and biscuits were placed on the table, and Baba came downstairs. Some more small talk, and then, one of them lowered his voice to a disturbing note. It sent chills down my blood— just the voice itself. "That house by the store? The daughter had attempted suicide three hours ago."

They detailed the decisive scars on your forearm, the blood that stained your bed, the way you were blue and cold by the time people got to you. Even your parents, grief-stricken and traumatised, were not released from their collective contempt. How could they have been so careless? Had you a proper upbringing, you wouldn't have grown so melodramatic. But then again, one of them had said in a conspirational air, maybe it had something to do with an affair? Kids these days—

You were saved by a miracle, they say.

I wish I could know how you feel about that. You've always been so enchanted with miracles and fairy tales. You told me that so many times, but like most of our conversations, I didn't know how to reply. The questions choke my throat now. Did you finally grow out of the extraordinary? Did you even want a miracle that day?

I'd never get the answers.

But you finally got your adventure. By tomorrow, you'll be thousands of miles away from me, away from this boring town. And now, I'm the one who's slowly bleeding out. Not because of you, mind it. No. We're not friends.

But because I could have saved you, and I chose not to.

- @nosebleedclub 's prompt for April 24: routine.

[coldagain]

Countdown

how much longer do i have

before I break under the grief?

how long do I nurture it

with my rotten flesh and saltwater,

growing it in my womb

until it tears me apart from the inside?

you're so happy dancing

in a crowd you say you love

in the blink of an eye,

moments after I was gone.

when you come home at night,

reeking of cigarettes and wasted youth

do you ever wonder how you could've forgotten someone

you swore you loved?

how long did you take to forget me?

how long

until you feel my grief?

[coldagain]

The way this was written is incredibly heartwrenching.

Most days I find it hard to get out of bed in the morning

And when I do finally untangle myself from layers of sheets that strangle me

I daydream of being there again

Where the warmth of my blankets is equivalent to the comfort of a friend

Most days I don’t want to wake up

I want to rest my eyes

Not for five more minutes, more like five more months

In a perfect world I could stay as long as I want

I could sleep until all that’s left of this place is me and the trees

I once wrote a poem titled “my bedroom is trying to kill me”

But only because I feel compelled to never leave

My therapist calls this a symptom

But I disagree because I’ve always loved sleep

And what’s the harm in a little fatigue if I’m not hurting anybody?

Last week my mother told me I need to eat

She said she’s really starting to worry

But I see nothing wrong with taking a break and I’m in no hurry

I guess it just feels like things make more sense in my bed

I don’t feel so trapped in my own flesh I don’t feel like a prisoner to my own head

- d.

[coldagain]

hide and seek

I remember your footsteps when i hid under the bed, with bated breath,

when you laughed, in the way I wanted to laugh when I grew up,

as you looked for me everywhere but my favourite spot,

determined to make this silly game last longer,

when we played hide-and-seek.

I remember your footsteps when you walked away from my father,

screaming and growling like a wounded tigress, always, everyday,

as I hid under the bed again, curled in on myself,

wishing it would stop, those damned banging doors,

when I wished I was not your daughter.

I remember your footsteps when you walked away from my door,

murmuring loud enough for me hear what an ungrateful child I was,

as I sobbed into my bedsheets, because you should be my mother,

you should come back, and tell me you loved me regardless,

when I failed and won and loved and lost.

I remember your footsteps when i finally snapped like a string drawn too tight,

when I became the tigress you trained me to be, with my fangs and claws,

as I told you that I'm not okay, mama, I'm not okay at all,

you made me this way, and it's such a terrible world,

when you walked away because you think i'm a fool.

so, you walk away, and you walk away,

and I keep these footsteps as a memento,

of the fact that you don't know how to seek better,

And I don't know how to hide.

— inspired by @nosebleedclub 's prompt for 15th april "mother's footsteps"

[coldagain]

I yearn to be loved quietly, tenderly,

just because you want to, only because

you want to.

[coldagain]

what is something you want everyone to know?

(I have no clue how I overlooked this question... sorry, anon!)

that they are always loved. There are so many silent admirers all around you that it's actually pretty unbelievable- maybe that one junior who likes your sense of style, that one teacher who admires the hardwork you put in, that one classmate who searches for you in every single social setting, that one regular on your bus who smiles a little brighter when they see you.

So, yeah, I'd want everyone to know that you're seen, and you're valid. Keep being your awesome self! (^^)d

[coldagain]

ugh, @pearatwar you idiot. i'm gonna cry (from cuteness overload). everyone looks so. adorable.

tags~ @ivysworld02 (do it :)), @louudthoughts (you're an absolute sweetheart), @a-dreamersjournal + anyone who wants to do it! (*＾3＾)/～☆(ﾟ∀ﾟ) [if I forgot anyone, that just means I have a terrible memory, feel free to shout at me :')]

i found a cool tag game on twitter and i really wanna import it (o^ ^o)

this picrew + the last song you listened to :]

no pressure tags: @blood-loving-leech @overtaken-boredom @lesbianthatyaps @kameonerd566 @hexedvampire @laczki @anonymous-shxtposter @fleurafae @flovqy + anyone who wants to do it <3