manicpixiedeadgirl - Tumblr blog

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

bottle

i’m a bottle suppressed, stuffed with dried up tears and dreams that remain as dreams, words unsaid and crumpled up thoughts, neatly folded emotions and everything that otherwise comes across as fantasy so one day when i get too full and start to spill of “i’m sorry’s” and damned ironies throw me out into sea watch the glass shatter, into a whirlpool i’ll be

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

july comes,

a whiplash, incalculable,

a wind slapping your face at your doorstep,

in its guttural tail you spin in nevertheless.

galas lasting for days,

heels worn out, champagne drained,

morning comes, the flutes in splinters-

the sun makes them look beautiful,

like faces streaked in tears,

painted in melodrama.

the rest are afternoon picnics,

slightly glorious, otherwise lackadaisical;

i remember tasting the sun as adoration,

and almost immediately spitting it out,

the hollow lurching my withdrawal,

a reckless chute zooming around,

leaving me internally swaying in constant motion sickness.

i relish and retreat,

and back again.

-common, it has become at this point

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

so i'll press my palms above my lids,

and through the holes swear not to peek, 

tap my shoes the shiny shade of red enough times, 

til it's the hundredth candid of us,

imprinting our skin onto the grass-strewn field,

smiling with our sets of leftover baby teeth,

our "problems" in endless games of houses as heard from adults 

things had no choice but to be right,

and we'd embody the colors of the setting sun,

grabbing at it quickly and hungrily our grubby little fingers.

-exiles of playground kingdom

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

time remains something,

i do not know what to make of.

i still stand firm that it is definitely not linear,

whether sober or six shots down.

when you think about it, nothing much has changed except the years;

be my guest; pinch the picture in for a round of spot the differences.

the blade remained unused,

something held onto, finally disposed after so long.

green is the third color my hair has been so far,

and this place is another that knows nothing about me, not even my name;

well, my real name in that case.

today i’m cecilia, tomorrow, everette, the next scarlet,

a hundred women whose biographies are structured with the same skeletons,

and filth and lacking intricacies.

the clock’s motion remains abrasive,

but these days the dumpsite seems less itself,

and i am more a carved-out resemblance of a person,

a girl and a monster,

a modern-day Frankenstein,

baptized yet blasphemous,

in her girlhood,

and all her monstrosity,

her claws and her golden locks.

-i have learned to reach out my palms with less reluctance come what may.

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

"i don't have the energy"

just stream of consciousness so this is mediocre at best but i'll drop it here anyway

words and photos by caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

“i can’t do this anymore, this has to end. i’m sorry”

he spits the words out, coldly, without any trace of emotion. his gaze remains focused straight ahead while not really looking at anywhere at all. it took some more seconds before he turns her way, in finality, eyes vacant replacing the glow they used to hold in adoration for her. he stood, quickly followed by the stride of his footsteps, the rightful sounds for a closure.

blankness settles in her chest as she watched his retreating figure become nothing more than a shadow in motion. she heaves out a sigh, unsure if it was of dejection, sadness, confusion, frustration, rage or strangely, of relief; maybe it was a combination of it all. it was the only reaction she could muster-no betraying tears, no courage to ask him why he’s retreated to giving up, not even where, when, or how they went wrong. not even a desperate plea for him not to leave.

perhaps some part of her, the part that’s always been too half cynical and half realistic had this anticipated but her subconscious decides to shake the thought still, all those times ago.

what she couldn’t shake off, was that, she might’ve gotten what she wanted now. a secret wish, played only in her half-awake dreams, fondly overplayed as often as she zoned out with her thoughts. no, it wasn’t like she wanted him gone or for him to leave like he did barely an hour ago; she has long learned to love his shadows in the shadows and will remain even after they have blanketed every possible surface.

she’d subsequently find herself switching through their flashbacks-how a happenstance was where they picked and kicked off everything, their first dates in the ice cream shop they’d stay longer at even after they’ve finished their double scoop cones, the little love notes he’d stick between her books, their first kiss on a fall night at a drive-in, the countless bands they listened to in common, the promises under the blessing of the stars, the rooftop wedding with vows they’ve written on one boring summer day, inviting only their closest friends.

she had kept their moments in the beginning kindled. she held onto them dearly the first time the kisses turned faint and the “i love you’s” wavered. the first time they let the silence take up the gaping spaces of conversations that nearly tipped to the edge. she willed the “goodnight sleep tights” that went on ‘til dawn’s first peaks to amply fill the gaps of how they’d use to talk ‘til they slept. she held onto the promise of their future despite the way they’ve gone awry, their first moments imprinted to the back of her eyelids the whole time. or pretended to.

things shifted the way they did. vague at first, the way smoke would get into eyes. the cracks placed on crystals that could only be seen through its reflection in the sunlight. the inevitable distance gathering dust under the curtains waiting for the last call. the petty fights grew to slammed doors they walked out of.

the nostalgia made up for the lack of warmth from his arms around her. it pushed the hurt from expectations unmet just a little farther to where she couldn’t feel. she found herself wanting to go back more and more. to where they were. to how they used to be. to how things used to be.

for so long, she just wanted to retrieve their tracks back to the start.

alas, she stirs her coffee that has gone cold. they were back to where they were before. back to the start. strangers.

-and maybe she has finally gotten her wish. but he wasn’t even sorry.

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

graveyard boy and half dead girl no longer// graveyard part three

exactly who would've thought,

that she’d want flowers to bloom within his darkest parts, a stark contrast to the withered roses placed on the dead love barely letting him take breaths?

that his interest would be piqued

by someone who acts too smart,

like they’re too good for butterflies and chivalry.

that dreams of being somewhere else rather than the place for the dead started creeping up in their sleep,

that they would be each other’s lifeline when from the start they wanted to be anything but alive?

l o v e

so foolish

such a liar

ephemeral.

unless if it were true,

it'd be pure and patient and selfless.

and so their love remains,

in caskets it does not seek rest.

granted by the reaper that for as long as it remains true,

then it shall withstand and surpass the threat of mortality.

yet time runs nothing but up

and when oblivion decides to meet them

then they would by each other’s side,

a burial of two hearts encompassed by love.

-graveyard boy and half dead girl no longer// graveyard part three

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

the half dead girl// graveyard (pt. 2)

looking down upon

the gravestones marking countless failed attempts of people,

at the illusion disguised as “love”

was something she’d grown fond of.

seeing “lovers” for the fools they are,

acting like she wasn't a fool herself.

thinking that she was better than them for not trying,

getting sucked by the vortex of giving all your heart to someone,

a lot like digging your own grave.

-the half dead girl// graveyard part two

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

graveyard boy//graveyard (pt.1)

their love was long dead.

but sometimes he came by the grave,

placing fresh flowers

as if waiting,

wishing for them to sprout new buds of hope for what's been gone.

-graveyard boy

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

swan song

a black quilt patched up with diamonds for stars looming above us. our feet effortlessly following through the steps despite the fact that we’re both bad at dancing. you spin me around, and pull me in for a dip. all the while having your eyes trained on mine with the kind of emotion i can't quite decipher.

but I didn’t mind-

in the back of my mind this could pass off as the one where I’m in a white dress and gold is found on both of our ring fingers. the orchestra plays the song once more and when we finally finish off, there was even a smattering of applauses from the crowd, the scene ending with us taking a bow.

“little did we know that we were dancing to our swan song.”

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

the river runs through,

pristine waters crossing jagged rocks,

ethereal tidal hands passing on their grace.

the only constant sound in the seclusion offered by pines and spruces,

miles far from crucifying gazes and demeaning canards, not shushed.

well actually it isn't so far from your place,

but it is from mine and eyes closed, it’s a world away,

with our shadows next to the other's,

feet swinging in and out of the currents,

rosebud lips and green eyes trained on brown ones, no longer discreet,

soft blur filtered-images.

i was hailed from the flighty and the brisk.

and early on i taught myself not to rely on 

anything or trust anyone-

people would offer you poison disguised as milk

and venom-dripping back pats.

but gladly i oblige to drop this excuse for a heart in your graze,

still baring splinters from the plaster walls used to hide my being from the world;

on close fists you can take away my reservations.

promises have always been incredulous for me,

lest I put my trust on dandelion wishes and passing blue cars for you.

the sun goes down and tinting skin in twilight blue.

we've stayed for quite long basked in the brook's mystique.

for a while longer, we stay,

gemstones braided in your hair; a corset paired with my whimsical skirt,

siren-eyed smirks and otherwise illicit touches.

no hunter has come to reveal us in this dwelling place.

the water nymphs witnessed all that we've done while in their home-

it's no secret that the hills and trees have eyes,

hush, for their sight don't leer nor scorn,

not minding carrying this partial secret,

offering safety in screaming this love out.

now i'm back to drawing your place beside mine on afterwork takeout receipts, 

scribbles from memory of the secret place,

and casting my hopes upon the prismatic sky.

the sun shows another day,

and my suncatcher capturing rainbows,

reminding me that our safe space awaits,

where the river runs through.

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

may crosses the threshold;

still  in place despite being shaken,

things dangling in a state of shock, matters frenzied.

 all i could do is stare at its tail ends, its ides, its roots, fiendish.

time is a quicksand, it has taught.

the month's chasm i find myself suspended in,

as only half and in a room hellish, four corners built precariously

pent up dread snowballing.

breathe in breathe out

may leaves,

a sigh of only minimum relief

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

“what’s your idea of the calm?” you asked me once in passing, voice laced in such dreamlike wonder.

“those hours in the night spent alone while the whole house is asleep. reading old journals and letters in the middle of cleaning my room after a long period of sadness. an afternoon nap that ends up being better than the previous night’s sleep. the welcome hug a place gives as it remains unaware of my name.”

your end was filled with palpable silence, the enticing kind.

“what’s yours?” i exclaim

“you.”

and it so goes a shift from disbelief to nauseating giddiness to composure. i’ve always been all over the place barely making it anywhere. most days, i existed along the lines of chaos and maybe us meeting, our lines intersecting was a haphazard drift of peace. we were both in our equilibrium phase, breakeven skies, no storm in sight nor in passing. we were both so used to havoc but strangely for once, it repelled. we were each other’s calm after the storm but i guess i was misinformed-lo and behold, some storms never really leave. before you my grasp on the calm was slippery and i was mistaken that i could ever even try to be the silhouette of it. ‘cause that’s what you needed but even years past i still don’t know how to silence your thunders.

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

eight months

eight months.

eight months have flown by.

yet, there are still midnights where i find myself dialing your number, hoping you’d pick up. my befallen hopes get repeatedly crushed as it goes straight to voicemail.

there’s still midnights where i leave messages, short clipped ones. i tell you about a meme i saw or something a colleague has said that irked me. i tell you my favorite and my least favorite ones from the new album of the band we used to listen to. i tell you about the weather and my plans of moving away. i tell you how much i miss you. i tell you how i want us back.

and there’s midnights where i just listen to the voice on the recording, thinking how your phone must probably be on airplane mode, like how it always used to be when we were still together. when it was still me. when it was still just me.

you’ve never really been fond of calls. you were more of a message type of person. your phone’s probably on airplane mode and you probably have your arms wrapped around her right now, both of you leaning against the headboard, a thin blanket covering your bodies. a horror film's on the tv, one she picked even though horror’s not really your genre. you don’t even have to reach for your phone and keep declining, and she won’t have to keep on asking you “who was that?” and you won’t have to come up with an excuse that it was from a wrong number.

there’s still midnights where my persistence wins and i redial and redial hoping you’d pick up even just once and we’d make small talk, as if nothing happened and everything’s still normal.

there’s midnights where i hope you’d pick up and your voice would sound like steel and ice and you’d tell me to stop calling, that it’s been eight months since for fuck’s sake and that you never want to hear from me ever again.

to think about it, you never even bothered to block my number. or my social media accounts. you couldn’t even be bothered to give a decent explanation when i found out about her. when i confronted you how it happened. how you met her in the midst of us. how you ended up with her even when i was still in the picture. as if you were just waiting for me to get out of it, both of your lives. like we never even happened to begin with.

there’s still midnights when my hands shake, my phone screen blurry from tears, my head pounding from the countless shots i’ve taken. midnights where i want to ask you “how?”, how you both are alright and happy and over the moon, while here i am, still stuck and miserable, still hopelessly pining for you-it's all unfair. how you got the guts to fall for her when you claimed you loved me with your unending professions. how you were able to walk away from what we had because you decided it’s her you wanted to be with. how you didn’t even have to move on from me. how all of these, those eight months seem so easy for the both of you. the hangover the morning after’s what makes me realize i did send you the recordings.

i tried to reach you again the midnight after, but the recording said that the number i have dialed has either been disconnected or no longer in service.

i guess you have finally changed your number.

-at least i know my messages reached you.

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

"harden not your rage.

no, i do not mean forgive and forget,

but let it melt, let it glaze.

let it soften, let it fractalize,

but not into stone so rugged.

maybe something like a pebble,

quaint for a pocket

yet just enough to keep you running."

-an excerpt

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

bridge watchers

it’s just how it was.

and so things ended up the way they did.

we were quite a pair;

what with my impulsiveness and your rationality.

as i took a step back, each time i recognized the danger in your eyes, flickers unleashed.

this rendezvous meant meeting somewhere a little nearer than halfway,

not without leaving a breadcrumb trail of weariness.

see, we didn’t get around to the part of burning bridges-yellow and orange and blue flames standing tall. neither did we try dousing ourselves in gasoline just so it could stay alive, sparks like flirtatious moths attune to life.

all that we’ve resorted to was crossing the bridge and rightly so. for all we ever wanted was to learn the language the city lights spoke upon the ripples delving into atlantis’ reach. there wasn’t a need to get past the platform, plainly standing there already felt right.

this is what those weeks were all for. open-door kisses and treacherous things in the dark.

the laughing fits and slow dancing in your balcony at 2am, acoustics faint on your speakers were just ways we came up with in order to kill time.

things ended up the way they did.

your messages left unopened, my secrets i’ve bared onto your lips and your tongue was the ink you’ve etched yours with on my skin. for a while it meant more than that, we meant more than just a jet’s smoke trail of fleeting stars crash landing upon reality. we could only get to pretend for so long that the crash wouldn’t occur even as we’ve made an agreement that we’d still be alright and remain with an exchange of warm smiles and inviting eyes like the first encounter. but pretending could only sit so well in my chest but it can’t quite counteract this particular feeling rushing with intensity, an outrage that’s only worsened as those exchanges are kept/go on.

so forgive me if i couldn’t keep contact, if all your calls go to voicemail-and i try not to listen to them but ultimately fail. the only compromise i aid to is to not reply.

that’s just how it was.

things ended up the way they did.

the passionate flames surrounded us keeping a close watch so they wouldn't engulf us

we were just bridge watchers content on not going beyond nor under

-“bridge watchers.”

-caela m.

[manicpixiedeadgirl]

romeo and juliet

romeo, i've forgotten where we met, i think it was at some party? you were with your friends that night and you were just someone who caught my fascination.

the next thing i know your face was lit up from laughing at a lame ass joke i told that you deemed witty.

and the night sky went on, we got in your car and drove aimlessly there's a mixtape you made playing in the background- later on i found out that was your way of introducing me to your favorite bands.

my heart badly wanted to get out of my chest the whole time- it was so loud inside, knocked up by all the anxious flutter

you sent unknowingly through me.

the weariness i had from willingly entering a stranger's car gradually melting.

i was relieved that we actually had a conversation despite it being casual and light. i remember the way your eyes glimpsed at me as i got out of your car and not even ten minutes have passed when you sent me a text saying, good night sleep tight- but i didn't really catch sleep not until it was 4am, an hour after i finally calmed down the slightest bit.

and we took it from there and all the moments we've had now reside in the crevices tucked in the lone corner of my brain; i keep coming back to them. it was all too fast and i was falling and it just couldn't be because what if i haven't gotten in your car that night? if this wasn't written by the stars or some great force but just black ink over the lines of some doomed fate. and it doesn't make sense and history repeats itself and everyone knows this is a tragedy where you'll come after me and it'll be the end of the both of us.

i had to leave, i had to save you.

because this was never supposed to happen- it's supposed to be romeo and rosaline or some other girl. but right now you probably found your rosaline in a pack and a bottle in your hands. and i'm sorry for causing you pain; you don't deserve to hurt.

now i remember-

it is east where we met; but quite frankly i am not the sun.

sincerely,

juliet

-caela m.