monachopsis-muse - Tumblr blog

[monachopsis-muse]

After death's soliloquy

I tried to kill myself yesterday.

All I could see was the floor covered with blood, and the bloody fingerprints left by my every touches. My vision are blurry and every steps pained me. Yet, I keep tiptoeing at my own death, just so I'll leave no trace for 'them' to mock my despair. Because at that moment, I knew, I wont die - at least, not yet, not tonight. But I dont have anymore strength to force out my soul out so with my bloody hands, I gathered the red liquids gushed out from my sinful skin - mopped it clean.

How idiotic, to bath yourself in your own blood just so you can feel an ounce of warmth, that was never given to you. For an affection that wasn't even yours to begin with - you ought to suffer. It's insufferable for a child to hate their mother, yet still waited for her cold gaze to turn warm.

(@monachopsis-muse)

- I'm not even a child, I'm in my twenties, yet, yet, I still reach out my hands to her - hoping that for once, we could be saved; just for her to pull me to the deepest of despair that she created for both of us. How foolish am I...?

[monachopsis-muse]

Self desolation

In the depths of my soul, a mournful wail,

Where shadows dance and whispers wane,

How is it possible, this relentless travail,

To part from myself, in this endless bane?

Each heartbeat echoes a mournful dirge,

A symphony of longing, a requiem for dreams,

In this labyrinth of despair, I submerge,

Lost in the depths, of my silent screams.

How is it possible, to drown in this sea,

Of sorrow and regret, where hope decays,

I am but a ghost, longing to be free,

Yet bound to the echoes, of my own malaise.

(@monachopsis-muse)

- I am both the architect and the prisoner of my own existence, trapped in the cycle of longing and despair. Yet, with each word, I cling to the hope of finding salvation amidst the wreckage of my thoughts.

[monachopsis-muse]

"If a poem hasn't ripped apart your soul; you haven't experienced poetry."

- Edgar Allan Poe.

[monachopsis-muse]

The heart's sorrow

At times, being alone with my emotions is daunting. Denying their existence has become my shield, fearing that if I let them in, they'll devour me whole. It's a precarious balance, teetering on the edge of my sanity. But perhaps, just perhaps, this time I'll face them head-on, I'll allow them to have a piece of my mind, hoping to find sanctuary amidst the chaos of my own existence..

(@monachopsis-muse)

[monachopsis-muse]

"Your heart will become a dusty piano in the basement of a church and she will play you when no one is looking. Now you understand why it's called an organ."

- Rudy Francisco, Like Every Other Man.

[monachopsis-muse]

A mother's wretched womb

How can a mother's heart, once filled with love,

Turn to bitterness and resentment, like a venomous dove?

For in her womb, I was once cradled and cared,

But now, her gaze holds nothing but despair.

I, once a child, innocent and unaware,

Failed to decipher her hidden despair.

Her affection turned venomous, her warmth to frost,

Leaving me adrift in a sea of emotions lost.

I bear this heavy burden, this weight of betrayal,

A legacy woven with threads of deceit and denial.

How can a mother despise a child for the father's sin,

How can a womb that once overflowed with love, now harbor hatred within?

(@monachopsis-muse)

- nothing to note.

[monachopsis-muse]

Time's endless chase

Oh, is it foolish of me, to desire more hours in a day,

To stretch the finite, to make time obey?

For within these fleeting moments, tasks unending lie,

A constant battle against the clock, as days slip by.

I yearn for moments to linger, to savor and hold,

To chase dreams unfettered, to embrace stories untold.

For in the quiet moments, when the world slows its race,

I find solace in the beauty of time's gentle grace.

So let me dream of days with more hours to borrow,

Where the rush of life yields to a gentler tomorrow.

Though time may be finite, my aspirations soar high,

For in the pursuit of dreams, I find reasons to fly.

(@monachopsis-muse)

- i've been writing and drafting for my book these past few days (no, I'm not an author). How can one be weary and inspired at the same time? My brain is rushing with ideas, but my fatigued body couldn't keep up. Maybe I should have rested for a while.

[monachopsis-muse]

A fragile splendor

I never thought roses have such soft petals,

Each delicate bloom a testament to their mettle.

In their fragility, they find their allure,

Each petal a testament, an emblem pure.

In their breakability, they find their ascendancy,

A melancholic dance in the face of destiny.

For what's beautiful is often fragile and torn,

Yet it's in the brokenness, true beauty is born.

(@monachopsis-muse)

- the other day, I received roses from a stranger—it was my first time ever holding them.

[monachopsis-muse]

The endless aspirations

In the pursuit of triumph, I tread my path,

Yet each victory feels fleeting, a mere aftermath.

No matter the heights that I may ascend,

A lingering hunger persists, a restless friend.

I chase greatness with an insatiable desire,

Yet the emptiness within only grows higher.

For no matter how grand my feats may be,

They never fill the void, never set me free..

(@monachopsis-muse)

- the void inside me persists even after I have achieved and accomplished. Ah, what a curse it is, where every success serves to deepen the abyss of longing within me, leaving me forever yearning for something more, something elusive - beyond reach..

[monachopsis-muse]

The stoic storms

In the depths of solitude, I dwell alone,

A writer's heart, with emotions overthrown.

For I, the thinker, the rational soul,

Find solace in logic, my emotions take their toll.

In the silent chambers of my mind,

A tumult of feelings I strive to bind.

But like a tempest raging deep within,

My emotions stir, refusing to rescind.

Oh, to rationalize this torrent of despair,

To quell the tumult, to clear the air.

But alas, I am but a prisoner of my own mind,

Forever confined to the labyrinth I find.

So I write on, with a heavy heart,

Hiding my turmoil, playing my part.

For I am the thinker, the stoic sage,

But within me, emotions rage and engage.

(@monachopsis-muse)

- my tablet stylus is broken, so for now, I can only write...

[monachopsis-muse]

A fool's lament

"Not a single scar on my heart is from an enemy"

It is not the enemies who have wounded me, but those who walked alongside me. Every scar upon my heart is a testament to the betrayals of those I once held dear, each mark, like a festering wound, call to mind of the pain and anguish from those I trusted most. So I carry these scars with me, as they epitomize the fragility of human connection and the inevitability of betrayal.

(@monachopsis-muse)

- such is the destiny of those who dare to trust in a world where cruelty knows no bounds.

[monachopsis-muse]

/mɒθ/

They said not to long for the comfort from those that hurt you,

Yet the heart knows not the logic of reason's virtue.

In the shadows of pain, where memories ache and bleed,

It seeks solace in the very hands that caused it to grieve.

For what is love but a tangled web of contradictions,

Where hurt and healing blend in strange afflictions?

In the depths of longing, where whispers of betrayal dwell,

The heart still yearns for the touch of a familiar spell.

(@monachopsis-muse)

Quick sketch (pardon my terrible handwriting..)

- Although moths are often associated with positive transformation, I can't help but view them as harbingers of demise, drawn irresistibly to the flames that consume them, their delicate wings scorched by the very light they yearn for. In their relentless pursuit of the ephemeral glow, they embody the tragic allure of love, where desire blinds and ultimately consumes. Whether it be families, friends or lovers, when the heart desires love, heedless of reasons, it inevitably leads its vessel to destruction.

[monachopsis-muse]

The stars, ancient sentinels of the night, whisper secrets of the universe in hushed tones. Forever, I'll be captivated by their silent beauty, drawn to the mysteries they hold within their glittering depths. How many stories lie hidden among their luminous trails? How many dead dreams have drifted through the silent void of space? As I gaze upon the stars, I wonder: do the stars, like humans, weep for the worlds lost to time? Do their silent tears fall as meteors in the night sky? As I drift into reverie, I find comfort in the timeless dance of the cosmos—a reminder that in the vastness of space, there is always more to discover.

(@monachopsis-muse)

- the stars look exceptionally bright tonight

[monachopsis-muse]

In the dim twilight's embrace, I find reprieve,

Gazing upon the moon, worn heart's retreat.

A weary traveler in life's relentless stream,

Seeking solace in the tranquil moonbeam.

Yet fatigue weighs heavy, upon these weary limbs,

In the moon's gentle glow, the spirit dims.

A respite sought, from the world's cruel art,

In the moon's soft embrace, a weary heart.

Thus, in silent reverie, I find my rest,

In the moon's soothing light, my heart's quest.

For in the stillness of the night's gentle sway,

I find solace, until the break of day.

(@monachopsis-muse)

- worn out after an important social event

[monachopsis-muse]

" We are writers, my love.

We don't cry. We bleed on paper. "

Anon, an ample respite for the mind's ascent,

Yet the beauty witnessed at dawn's gentle event,

Hath seized my thoughts, a consuming flame,

Thus, I shall sketch 'til the night's weary frame.

Beneath the silver moon's ethereal glow,

Where stars twinkle in the heavens' grand show,

I'll linger in the silence of the night's embrace,

Finding solace in the darkness, a tranquil space.

(@monachopsis-muse)

- Reminiscing my old sketches while working on my rendering technique.

[monachopsis-muse]

Trying digital art journal since my sketchbook has no empty pages left.