opheliaaster

[opheliaaster]

“Fiery the angels fell, deep thunder rolled around their shores, burning with the fires of the orc”

Roy in Blade Runner, quote adapted from William Blake

I will burn. 

This is what they say, when they cast their stones, burying those beneath the heavy, dreaded weight of their sins. When you die, you will die, you will burn; repent your sins. That is what they say. Repent your sins before you die, or you will burn.

I am already burning. 

I am not dead, though it feels like I am. Perhaps if it happened, when it happened, it was not them. It was not theirs. It was mine. Blood may be thicker than water, but skin is not stronger than steel. Neither are souls, or hearts it seems. 

I had no heart, just a blade only capable of cutting.

Now I have no mind either.

I don’t know if it happened, when it happened. The sun had cast its last glazy look about the sky and I was undressing, slipping on a pale purple robe in place of my school uniform, removing the wound of lipstick from my face. I must have touched my lips, once or twice, throughout the day, because the lipstick was smeared over my hands, like scars, probably when I was in the midst of listening to his rant.

A soft knock at the door, and in walks the executioner, here to deliver my sentence. 

He’s dead.

The Earth fell out, crumbling beneath the weight of my steel blade. No grave could hold me, it would be no match for the flames that licked my burning shame. 

If it happened, when it happened.

That doesn’t make sense, my robe isn’t purple.

Do I even own a robe?

You would think I would remember, watching it happen. You’d think that I would, watching the dawn turn to dusk, yellow and orange sent down to await my arrival, replaced by a cold, hollow loneliness of blue and black. Slowly, as the last sigh left his lips, you would think I would remember watching the reflection in his now lifeless eyes: those eyes that now face the inside of his grave.

Here’s the thing: I don’t. That’s the scary part. I can’t say I did it, because I don’t know if I did or not, and I don’t know which is worse: knowing or not knowing. Sometimes I think it would be easier to set my grave on fire now. 

In church they told us the story of Cain who murdered his brother Abel. Instead of condemning him to eternity in hell, God forgave him. However, he cursed his ancestors, dooming his great-grandson to repeat his mistakes. Did I do the same? Did I sign an invisible contract when I wrote my passage? When I- if I...

Crucified, he was. Auckland’s Lamb of God that we will break bread over, symbolizing his bleeding, hollowed out body. He was a son, a brother, now a martyr. His funeral is on Friday. I cannot step foot in there, let the light of the stained glass windows spotlight me, cast a wine splattered glow over my face, body, hands. Will it be wine? Or is it something else?

It's not just the funeral, I am on death row, now and forever. Walking past the jury, pew, after pew, after pew, will become my trial. I will stand once a week, at the altar of the judge, silently begging for forgiveness. I will hold his blood in my hands, shackled to its leaden casket. I will hold it to my lips, and drink away my sins. Nothing will work though. I will drown in my own personal hell. 

Knowing or not knowing, this is what I am left with. This is what controls me, what suffocates my soul. I am not dead, nor am I alive, not anymore. I died with him, and what is left in the hollowness between heaven and hell is a river of fear. I do not know what happened, I don’t know what is the truth, and neither do you. 

The smoke calls me into the fire.

Lord forgive me.

[opheliaaster]

Would be nice to have a happiness that didn't turn out to be horrible lesson in the end, you know what i mean.

[opheliaaster]

All the Good Girls Go to Hell

I think I will go to hell.

There has always been a part of me

Stroking the embers

A moth to the flame

Except

I am the flame

The moth is the naivety I have

The belief

That I will not incinerate everything I love

In a self destructive blaze

Every day the facade

Cracks

Crumbles

The lead weight of my sins dragging me further and further down

And I will take everything with me

I can't let it take you too.

I am broken

I cannot be restored

cannot be fixed

You can pretend that the patches you sew

Aren't a mark on what was once

New fabric

Innocent and pure

But eventually you find the truth

You will throw it away

And eventually

It will burn

We all will

Some of us just faster than others.

I cannot douse these ugly wounds in my sorrows anymore

Self inflicted pity is as much a tragedy as fate

And I cannot stop either

Nor can I ignore the wailing sounds of souls burning in the inferno

Calling my name

Pulling me down to a world that I wrote myself into

Eventually you burn alive long enough not to notice the pain

Charred flesh is numbed and becomes less of a painful reminder of what you fear

And more of a homely comfort

At least this way once I have been incinerated

I will never be set alight again

I will be nothing but ashes

Until then I am nothing but flames

[opheliaaster]

Labyrinth

I am a monster.

I bleed, as I break

every bit of me to fit over the wall

oozing self contempt

and hatred 

I hit brick 

after brick 

after brick

rearing in agony

longing for the walls to crack

for the dam to break

but all I do is bleed.

There are no lights.

Every corner I turn 

is an endless void, swallowing all hope and life whole

I wonder how long it will take 

for it to consume me,

to feast on my repulsive flesh.

Maybe if I looked in a mirror I would find that it already has,

maybe I would find that

I am the mirror.

A man,

a monster,

a boy,

the sun.

Some build, others destroy.

Storytellers forget,

one is often all.

I cannot tell the difference anymore.

What I build destroys me

I am my own Daedalus, my own monster, 

my own Icarus

my own pain.

I built my own labyrinth, and all I destroyed was my way out.

I can't break the damn thing

but it will break me.

I am a monster.

[opheliaaster]

Welcome!!

I am going to share my poetry here under this pseudonym, Ophelia Aster. Some quick info about me, I am 18 and in my last year of high school, I love Shakespeare, Poetry, and mythology, and my favourite flowers are of course Asters and Delphiniums. I am an INFP and from New Zealand :)

Hope you enjoy my writing!!