freedom-of-tranquility - Tumblr blog

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Stars, and the memories they hold.

Stars, burning as gas and minerals.

Stars, the universe's library.

Luminous and ethereal, stars. Memories long lost, carved on these stars.

They exist in a place between the skies and the heavens, floating in stasis.

Stars are built from the universe. The universe is built on entropy.

Perhaps the stars are small, perhaps they are large.

The hand who hold them can be kind, or it can be cruel.

The universe is unpredictable. And so are the stars.

The memory held on these stars, life from the universe itself.

The hand holds them gently, breathing life into its creation.

The universe is kind.

The hand squeezes them, destroying the memory within.

The universe is cruel.

Read the stars. Look at their tale. And understand our entropy.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Yeah no, I'm a fucking Oasis

WAIT PEOPLE ON TUMBLR ARE REAL FUCKING PEOPLE

[freedom-of-tranquility]

I am not human.

I cannot be human.

My teeth are sharp, they are made for biting.

I tear through my own flesh and blood, for I cannot give into my desires.

I am not human.

My teeth are yellowed, I have not eaten.

I bite and tear, I am not satiated. I cannot give in.

I am not human.

I taste metallic on my teeth.

Why do I feel more animal than human?

I am not human.

I am hungry. And my teeth are still sharp.

I cannot be human.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

What is freedom?

To say the least, freedom is meaningless. To be free is to state that there is risk of capture.

And what is freedom in the face of forever?

When one is forever, there is no prison that could truly capture you. Everything erodes with time, even the prison of one's mind.

No one is forever.

We are all trapped in our finite times, a short existence, unable to hear the starsong.

We return to stardust, and we reform. And we are born anew, and the universe will reform.

Nothing is forever.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Everything hurts, and it always gets worse.

Your family will die, and that will hurt. Your friends will die, and that will hurt.

You will die. It may hurt. I think life hurts more.

You're met with ire for your opinions, and hated for being born.

From our first waking moment, we are abused and worked until we die.

Some have it worse than others.

We live in a world where some people think that death is preferable to life, an so many people still say that's its fine or even perfect.

This hurts. It hurts us. We just want to live.

Is that too much to ask for?

[freedom-of-tranquility]

I open my eyes, I see red.

I am not angry, I have never been angry.

I simply only see red.

I've always been confused, by shades of black, white, and blue.

Because all I can see, is my crimson sea.

I smile, my teeth are yellowed and my eyes leak red.

Even my tears, I see red.

I pick up a microphone and try to sing. My voice will crack.

The vermillion confuses me.

The carmine watches me, and the ruby has scalded me.

I cannot breathe. I am drowning in my sea. So now I look, and it is all cinnabar.

Even in the end, as I look to the sky,

The stars are red, and I drown again.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

What is the use in repetition? You endlessly repeat. Expecting change? Tranquility? You fawn over fictional characters, people you've never met, just because you want a taste of what could've been.

It will never be. We know this, so we try desperately, clinging to our fictional lives that we have created, hoping, praying to everything, everyone, that it may be real.

Then we taste reality. It is bitter. We cry because we know. And we wish we didn't. We grasp at the lives we want, but we cannot have. Because we are just here. There is no other place for us.

Yet we still hold on, desperate and unwilling to see. We close our eyes, and you dream. It's awe inspiring in a way. Just the lengths anyone would go to deny. Deny deny deny. And others will let you. They'd be hypocrites otherwise, because they do the same.

And I cry, because I know. I know what you see, what I see, and what we so desperately want to be. And you cry, because you know what I see. And you so desperately want it to be.

And the cycle continues, repeating and denying, weeping and crying. And in the end, we will just dream again.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Is one made a God by their power or their worship?

What is power? What is the definition of worship?

I have power. I hold my hands over people, and I control them like puppets. Does that make me a god?

I have worship. I have people who would follow me to the ends of the earth, who would give up things for my sake. Does that make me a god?

Am I a god? I don't think I am. I like to move through what we call "life", just existing.

I think I am more of a traveller, a witness. I don't interfere, not even with my own life.

So, tell me. What makes a god?

[freedom-of-tranquility]

What does it mean to live?

Some would say it means to be able to eat or drink or have a roof over their head, but others would say that's just surviving.

Some would say that's its enjoying the time you have, but others would call that wasteful.

Life is a fickle term, used to describe many things.

Not everyone will see the same things, and often, some may not even see life as anything. Not a time to enjoy and not a time to survive.

You can't blame those people. Life is something that can go by in the blink of an eye, and maybe everything you did would be wasted.

It could cost you everything. It could be your downfall.

Or it could be your saviour, your escape from your mind.

Whatever it is, it's short. You could die tomorrow. People would care, yes, but in the scope of eternity, grief does not matter.

You can grieve. Take your time, mourn your past and future. Because when everything returns to stardust, only memories will remain.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Take the bottle, take a sip.

Push your emotions down until you need them.

Take the bottle, down it all, drown in the colours.

Take the bottle, take the bottle, take a sip, take a sip.

Push them down, until all you see, is black and white bottles.

Bitter liquid, bitter colours. They burn down your throat.

An angry red with scalding fire, drink it now.

A somber blue of soothing tune, drink it now.

Pink, yellow, green. Purple, grey, white.

Drink them now.

Empty the glass, mourn your past, and drink it now.

These black and white bottles are sour.

They dry your tongue and make you cringe, but you drink it now.

And when these colours consolidate, it turns sour.

These colours are black and white, so drink them now.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Because it was she.

She who was made of sunlight and summer winds, and it was she who had her wings.

Alternatively, it is me.

I, who is made from moonlight and winter fog, and I, who is to never see the sun.

Then it shall be us.

Siblings in every right, the sunlight and moonlight, set never to see each other.

The moon longs for the sun, to see her beauty, to reach his sister.

And the sun forgets the moon, never to remember her brother whom she once held near.

Only we see each other in an eclipse, and then it is that I will see. She has forgotten me.

For she is sunlight, and I am the moonlit fog that covers the ground.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Bitter. Everything is bitter.

The water I drink, the food I eat. It is all bitter.

Even with nothing, this bitter taste remains.

It seeps into my tongue, it invades my senses and it overwhelms my emotions.

I cannot escape this bitter taste.

It leaves a pit in my stomach, and my tongue feels heavy like lead.

My every movement is lethargic, and this bitter taste will drive me insane.

Even when the world I see is drenched in grey, it is still bitter.

It will not go away, so I must continue.

And with this world of grey, and this bitterness leaden on my tongue, I walk away.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

I've grown tired of this. Of this mind and of this body.

I do not want to die, no, but I am tired. I am sure you are too.

We've grown tired of these bodies, of these minds, and of these times.

I will call out for my darling, to save my body, even though he will never reply.

For he is not real, a figment of mine, a piece of my mind.

And I will reach for my darling, to save my mind, even as he crumbles beneath my fingertips, a longing for affection.

Even as my body, my body does ache, my mind must carry on. No matter how tired I may be.

And even as my mind cries, even as my mind threatens to still, my body must carry on. No matter how much my body begs to rot, it cannot.

I am tired. I've grown tired of this body, of this mind. I hope that one day, both will be mine.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Maybe, maybe one day I can breathe.

I cannot now. The breath gets stuck in my throat, and my lungs are full of love.

So I bite my tongue, because I don't want them to worry.

Even as roses bloom in my throat, I stay silent.

I still cannot breathe, though sometimes it feels easier.

I feel my thorns scraping up my throat, and I taste nectar falling from my tongue.

For my lung are full of love, and roses grow into my throat,

In the end, I find that my velvet petals are not roses, but snapdragons instead.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Salutations!

Hello! This is a writing blog for me to just show my poems n stuff!

These can contain dark themes, so my apologies is this makes you uncomfortable.

You can find my main blog, @aether-darling

Or my roleplay blog, @tranquil-watcher

I go by he/it, and I'm a system, so my signature may change.

The alters you may find on this blog are:

-Celestia

-Radio

-Aether

-Kuni

-Alastor

-Arle