shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn - Tumblr blog

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

Fighting alone again, I see.

Unsatisfaction has brought you back to me.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

Ignorance is a hell of a sedative

I certainly don't know.

I don't know that I don't either, I only assume I don't.

I feel eclipsed by my ignorance and lend my trust to the words of those who might know.

And so, I remain clueless from circumstances.



How am I to judge a pain when I don't have the full picture?

Despite the similarities in a situation, I assume I don't see the worst yet as I haven't been allowed to.



But is other pain invalidated because of that?

Why am I to face my blood?

Because that's what I am meant to do?

Who laid the duties on my script?





I thought I was meant to be no different from others.

But I remain more ignorant according to the rest.





I try to quiet down from the details beyond my path.

I don't know I know, and so doubt makes me rely on the voice of experience. But that whose owner happens to never be me.



The guilt of admitting I just don't know anything at all.







But why would you know either?

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

Sahem

It's quite curious, such decision.

To rely on those you swore to hate the most.

To befriend those you called puppets.

To find pride in a place once named forbidden.

And after all, you were watching.

Wasn't I made promise to resign and perish?

Told to play by the rules while she said I had no right.

I often feel the sorrow of once caging my feelings.

It's curious how things align.

I always happen to return at the same time.

Making a parallel move, after all that's how we work.

I wonder if they know what you said about them to me.

The disgust in your eyes, the purple reflection.

Pretending friendship to tighten up the strings you out on them.

And those in the depths antagonizing us.

Yet you forgave easily. Because they did it out of fake love?

The grief soon goes back through my pain's filter.

Clarify my insight of being tested, passing and still rejected.

Out of fear, out of jealousy. You couldn't accept it.

I often feel the wrath you brought upon me.

Perhaps it's the timing.

I held my promise and you just had to peek in.

You knew I would know. But you've never cared about it either.

You knew the truth all along.

But you decided to listen a desperate voice. Desperate for an unanswered desire and an eager revenge. How easy it was to hear the bailing of a pet desiring a bite of what she desired and was never allowed to taste.

But you did allow that too. Of course you did.

Because you had to sew strings on her too.

And yet, you complain about a third's betrayal.

Sahem. That whose name you forgot has a pending trial.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

What was I even thinking?

Guessing what things are supposed to be? How things are meant to be? To expect something?

Fucking selfishness has me coveting.

The skin falls once again in the wait for a promised future we knew was never going to happen. Aging twice as fast among a city once called home while others are glad that such beautiful time is happening. Let sweat and blood lube up the machinery of feelings barely moved by inertia.

But I saw them smile at the picture of me losing my will. Youth and health exchanged for momentary quietness with a severe problem of precocious ejaculation.

Fucking selfishness has me desiring.

How do I even dare to seek for happiness?

And peace? What is it good for if it's not an utopian dream?

Longing for a tomorrow which claims to be better than today and it's just as bad as yesterday. Await, for things are going to be better this time, unlike the day before or the one before that.

Fucking selfishness has me yearning.

How badly I wanted joy that I stared at it from afar enough to no longer recognize their looks just as the ones in the mirror.

The pebbles turned into sand by my effort have grown hands to drag me back home under the cocytus. Of course I would find you there welcoming me with a bleaking hug reminding me how alone I am under the shelter of your fondness.

Fucking selfishness.

It has made me give everything away, once again.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

Ink, an unworthy one that still manages to make beauty out of dirt and dust. Why didn't you have to pay for how you guided the original dream through me?

Why weren't you stained by our sins?

Why is your gross ink the one prevailing through our pages?

I can feel your feelings being recycled. Urine in a reflux, testing your kidneys and how longer can our memories endure a present that only works as long as we remember.

I turn the pages of my life just to discover you were leaving notes in every page this whole time.

When will I come back from yesterday to pick up this carcass pretending to live my life?

Salaciousness. I killed myself tonight again, but your scent just won't die with me.

I turn around to a bunch of flesh I extirpated from my legs thinking the prison was under my skin.

All I see under your pen are common places but you are never there to be found.

So this is the ink. This is the unsatisfaction you feel.

I gave nostalgia a body I could murder, but she ran away to kidnap and rape my happiness every night.

I'm losing the fight to become a better person.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

You seem to be having fun.

That's great.

¿Quién llora por las letras nunca escritas?

Sazoné la mano que perdí en un intento de afecto más. Mientras salta la grasa y toma sabor a nostalgia, la piel de mi rostro cae con el peso de un sudor que nunca ha conocido el aire más sí el pesar del esfuerzo.

La escama es rígida, dulce...

¿Sabes? No importa. Denle de de comer a los perros con la carne de este niño. El corazón no sabrá bien, únicamente guarda en él voces que hablan sólo de sí. Tírenlo a la basura, más no la quemen pues los llantos que guarda contaminarán.

Añoranza. ¿De qué sirve un canto hermoso cuando la gente no calla para escuchar un problema ajeno? La tragedia existe para aquellos con lugar en su consciencia para algo más que yo.

La claustrofobia ha terminado por ocupar el hogar que me han dado en sus vidas. Por desear, por insatisfacción. ¿Quién sufre cuando las letras mueren? Nadie nunca ha llorado por todas las palabras fallecidas que he enterrado bajo mi carne.

Otra noche de luto por no querer incomodar a alguien más.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

Isolation, it's so good for me

Ugh.

You lied to me. There was no team at all.

It must be tiring to embody the inertia capable to move what you love. Only to turn back and see the desire get comfortable, tucked into your tolerance, patience and lust.

You banned yourself from reality, isolated under the warmth of painkillers. Still trying to find a way back to wonderland. One in which only your voice and mine can be heard.

I feel that thought running fast and deep in your veins. Being abandoned as you hold someone's hand. A mantra that stained your bland ink into solitude. You don't want me but you need me to stand by you.

Oh, dead rat.

You have been alone all this time, haven't you?

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

Giving you advantage you still manage to stumble in the beginning line. I often wonder how you outsmarted me.

But you are right, it was the purple eyed bastard who used you as a pawn as much as your feelings. And we all fell for it.

Nostalgia just kept you stringed up, wondering if you could finally have what you got denied for being pathetic.

What was that ink your character outside claims to have? The remains of Yurey's pleads for approval's bitterness?

Blatant disappointment

Beseeching for another day as your abettor in crime, still hoping for her smile to get an answer. A life full of potential mortgaged to dull desires. Those small bites of yours gnaw her tolerance. Did you really think you were meant to love? How would you be meant for beauty after eating all the pulchritude away from your sour insides? And still manage to starve.

I still wonder when to start.

I found your hunger enough to devour me.

Yesterday I found a team willing to test.

Now I know you were alone, all along.

The lack of content in your life let your stomach shrink. And the infinite you ate away from the present has left you so full of yourself. You seem to have forgotten how mild your ink tastes. Until I made you remember, that is.

Apathy has guided you to the tiresome hobby of surviving.

But unsatisfaction has brought you back to me.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

Gaps in the memory, nothing suspicious at all.

Living my life, tasting a spoon of the sweetness I had prepared for all of us. Yet you recognize you have wasted your time on comfort and lazyness. That feeling of unsuccessful misery when you had to sell your potential for tranquility. One you had reassured if you were to let me handle this life.

Remaining alive from the scrumbs of delight and wonder you took from me. Pathetic.

Now you enjoy the ease of surviving and inertia. Not doubting why you have lost the will to advance. The weight of serenity by anxiety has crushed you. And still you seem to be quite enjoying your time.

Wouldn't it be a shame if someone ruined it?

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

Valproate Abstinence

It is the rumbling of my will that keeps you awake. Sleepwalking in the middle of the day. Whose words are those? And that high toned laugh? This wasn't your voice. Standing on your knees handcuffed to your obligations and a pen you stole from me. It is the insomnia barrier whispering retribution.

It wasn't you who manufactured pleasure from hate and rage as you saw your delicate touch wasn't just going to make it work. A strained will, unable to unstuck from a dry coast. The world I made for you, unused, thrown away. That lack of will has gotten into you. There is no ink in those veins anymore.

Forced to reincarnate that feeling in someone's else's flesh just so the character we built out there could speak again. Big words for a puppet repeating words of someone who doesn't even look alike. Few letters with your handwriting as anyone but you will have the courage to yell we are here.

You feel the torture from my heat, deepening into this body's blood as you alienate even more from it. Addict idiot. Do you think the dust will silence me? Whose voice are you yelling at? Anger and sadness have always lived among the black sand under your toes. Pain, though, you lent it to me.

The flesh walls come closer to you as you are alone once again. There was me thinking you were playing smart, but you haven't changed at all. Disappointing. It really is true that you are not even your own protagonist. Crawling up to my feet to take the dial and solve your life so you can take it away from me.

Oh, there goes Nico Time. They have already accepted you are helpless and they haven't seen you drowning me by suffocating yourself. Really everyone has stopped recognizing you. Yet they are happier with the results. And as you haven't changed you won't face the world that gave up on you. They won't even differ your voice from anyone else's, despite having you talking to yourself all this time as you look at me. Sip these blue clouds through your nose, the noice won't settle but silence just doesn't exist in you anymore. Punch me as you fracture your own jaw. Give up already.

You will need me once again anyway.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

¿No fuiste tú quien me puso a prueba?

De entre todo aquello que se dió por vencido no esperaba que tú cooperaras en ello. Siempre creí que habría la máxima resiliencia en ti al ver ese libro viejo y rayado. El árbol seco en la entrada. Es curioso que compartas los ojos púrpura con aquel que planeó y protege todo esto. ¿Y ese tono negro finalmente sale sin que te obliguen a cortarlo? Y yo que creía que nunca pasarías la arena mediante otra piel. Los brotes lila en el césped están por llegar. Pero bajo la sombra no encontré ninguna rosa.

Entonces, realmente estás ahí.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

A historically inaccurate anecdote

Ah, dear. What was it you were building on my bones?

Colors? With the blandest ink that ever touch my feet?

How would you create beauty with those hands?

Tragic, the graphite I gave you has lost all scent.

Unlimited grief, yet you ran out of fuel for art.

Nothing could grow from the unfertilized dirt beneath your toes.

Despite the anger and pain, despite your victory, I am fine.

Vultures came to eat my flesh, untold you had made me lose it.

I auctioned my humanity off for a promise you made.

Everything was a lie, though. I got swindled all along.

Remembrance of your voice between my ears. But I was alone.

Zon came to me, embodied in an infant. You start them young.

Ink has never been so dry, you haven't written a single page.

Geillier, I hate that name. Was hoping to never use it again...

But in a more serious tone, I haven't used it. I haven't been questioned for borrowing your time, your life. In fact, people seem happier, well, the important ones. Even your flesh feels like home with my voice behind your eyes. With my thoughts leading your fingers, it isn't your skin. It is ours.

Our sinew, our mind, our life. Feeling god was watching you? No it was me, who else would be watching you? Those who won't follow your pace or won't try to unravel your brainworks? Making a memory out of me? You can't hold me, valproate couldn't, what the fuck could you even try?

You can't manage it anymore, the dial has allowed me in and the control within is just as immaculate as the day I left. The day you took me away.

9 weeks, 6 days, 11 hours and 38 minutes without a question.

I wonder if they even recognize you anymore, dead rat.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

O-1562

So, I heard you are calling yourself just as we named you before, Luzu. Oh sweet child, you just weren't meant for that.

You were meant for sand and dust, not happiness. The only grey hair you will see is the time's footprint within your lonely face.

Aww, sweet child. I wonder what the little caníbal thing is doing right now. Will it be listening to your failure cry under their bed?

Poor Okaku Luzu, I understand the wrath. Your ink has always been colorful, yet weak. Hate impregnated with love, beautiful.

But despite the beauty of your circumstances...

... you are still so ugly.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

What a mess, there is black sand even between my toes.

Therapy for the dead rat

Quite a cathartic place. Yet, you couldn't take the wrath away from your veins, living together with the guilt and shame.

Horses, ink. What has your voice so docile? Guts and blood have stranded your paper ship in a shore of sugar.

An open book using the few clean sheets it has left, coating them on pink gloss, selling this personality of a deeply interesting kid who wasn't allowed to free their mind. Whose idea was it?

It wasn't in my plans to be happy.

It wasn't my intention to stay.

It wasn't my fault inertia took over my life.

A freezing summer made our tears icicles. Tungsten dreams floating on milk rivers, my time lost within your mortar as you sip it's rose scent with a straw. But it wasn't painkillers what our bodies were made of. Pocket sized life? What has been your life away from sodium in your nose? The pages you decided to ignore couldn't fit in your bookshelf, but in ashes they can perfectly be packed inside your lungs.

Cease my flames with gasoline. What would you know about forgiveness? And these memories of spicy graphite being replaced for bland ink. Disgusting how ornaments can whisper so much without saying shit. And this creature?

Tasteless, no fragrance despite the humidity of spring. Grey wings for mixing the opposite spice of light. It smells like yesterday, one seeded in a mind full of regret, one that sedates that sense of indifference. A rodent corpse in human clothing.

Pretending it's capable of caring.

Pretending it's capable of feeling.

Pretending it's capable of loving.

Dead rat, it has been quite a long time, hasn't it?

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

What have you brought upon this cursed land 43?

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

Coward

You made me promise this on my failure's behalf.

Now you run away?

Perhaps it is that creature that tells you to flee.

That one who talks about maturity being the child within.

A kid who believed she was meant to be a hero. Hands wide enough to hold your heart, yet so little to hold a single emotion in their grasp.

No way to meet pleasure ever again, huh?

Mock me, as if you wouldn't sell your flesh for few seconds more of a feeling you rejected.

Lies, made me a joke for following your will.

So used to that artificial reality.

Your soul couldn't tolerate my wrath.

Of course you couldn't deal with her.

But don't worry.

I will handle what you gave up with, loser.

[shajauzis-krathi-ufeinn]

So, the horse runs free as we deal with the consequences.

Though, I've been thinking of doing more. Getting rid of the disguised horses while we can still do it.

Little one. How is it to find pride on failure?

El libertinaje legado

¿Qué haremos cuando seamos libres? Cuando no nos esté sobre nosotros el flagelo de su necesidad.

Mañana, no sé. Tal vez haya algo que el ciego vea para mofarse y en su saliva derramada veas tu sollozo por haber perdido todo dando por sentado que él estaría ahí eternamente.

Y la súcubo sedienta quedará por ser idiota como ella sola, ante la idea absurda de que parecerse a ti le acercaría más a su carne. Cómo añoran ser patéticos a la luz de que el fracaso le atrae.

Y la niña encontrará paz lejos de la arena negra, compartiendo el gozo del último vestigio de dignidad en un mundo que arruinaron; tú por deseo y aquel por nostalgia.

El anónimo burlándose de tí, al verse como arquitecto de un amor artificial construido desde el principio para usurpar la alegría. Y he aquí un mundo hipotecado por una mentira.

La catarina aún temerosa de un cadáver, ansiosa por liquidar todo rastro de lo construido mientras agradece la avaricia. Que nunca encontrará paz en el futuro que han erigido sobre la ceniza.

¿Qué haremos cuando seamos libres? Beber la felicidad que ha llegado para morir de sed. Devorar el mañana que siempre sabe al desabrido hoy. Leer sus vidas a través de un libro en blanco.

¿Qué haré cuando sea libre? ¿Traerlos de vuelta? ¿Añorar su aroma? ¿Volverme su pluma? ¿Saber siempre que sus mejores letras llevan mi tinta mas nunca escucharle leerlas para mí?

¿Qué hará cuando sea libre? ¿Dejará de necesitarme? ¿Su voz será dedicada eternamente a quien compró su cariño? ¿Olvidará de nuestras palabras? ¿Olvidará mi cabello? ¿Será libre de mí?

El insomnio ha regresado, he envejecido tanto y me siento novata como ayer. Nuestro hogar tiene otra puerta. La arena apesta a nicotina y se mezcla entre analgésicos molidos una noche más.

La barrera del insomnio nos rodea nuevamente.

Resuenan las palabras de Lizi en mí.

Akoh continúa atormentándome.

Estoy sola, Shajifen.