#unfeignedwriter

[strokeofserenity]

Slyvia Plath

[the-garden-of-electric-light]

Soul's Burgundy Pour me  Into your wine glass.  Swish around my  Reds. Admonish my stains.  Hold me to your  Curious nose and allow  Me to caress your growing thirst.  Hold me, by the stem  And drink me in. 

[a1-playboy]

It’s sickening really,

The way I want to watch you slowly rip my chest open

To feel your cold fingers dig my heart out

You get off on the thought of leaving me empty

I want you to eat it, rub your teeth on the blue vein to make it hurt a little more

Rip through it slowly with your eyes meeting mine

I’d see ethereal beauty

My oxygen thief

[luckyluan]

The Living Storm

MARCH 24, 2024 - 11:26pm

The sky darkened. Soft and glacial giants dipped into malevolent postures and the wind scraped against the tall, winding grass. Its high-pitched shrieks spat curses in his ears as it whistled passed. The afternoon sky filled with a violent ink and streaks of violet lightning struck the roiling curtains as if welding together the adjoining frames. This would not soon pass. 

He looked from the sky to Taryn Rhys and back again. Below the flashing scene, Taryn stood with his arms outstretched to the heavens; and the atmosphere reached back. Coils of bright lightning jetted between his bony fingers. Large and small bolts of electricity traveled down his arms, across his body, and down his knees; disappearing into the dampening earth. The wind contoured his angular frame; whittling the protruding muscles at his obliques and aiming itself at him. Taryn leveled his arms at him; and as the currents of electricity draped themselves over his brown arms—like jewelry—he realized that Taryn viewed him as an adversary. 

Dalton fell backward as a bolt of lightning struck the ground between his sneakers. He scrambled backward. 

“What--what are you?” Dalton shouted over the laughing winds.  

The wind beat against his thick frame, and he dug his fingers into the wet soil for a handhold. Nothing helped. The current of wind was far too strong.  

A clap of lightning illuminated the velvet blanket covering the sky and the silhouette of a massive bird was lit by the passing of the brilliant energy. His heart sank. 

“I am the wind.” Taryn spoke. 

His voice shrieked like the wind and shook the ground like thunder. It surrounded him. The unyielding wind lifted Taryn off his feet. The air around him boiled with wells of power.  

“I am the darkening sky and coming rain.” he continued “both necessary and violent. I am the hurricane, the earthquake, the lightning, and the tsunami.” 

Taryn Rhys raised his arms to the sky and one blinding flash of lightning passed through him; electrifying the surrounding pasture. Tendrils of smoke rose from tall grass. Tree roots burned to ash as the current travelled up their ancient and knowing trunks. The lightning transformed their leaves to simmering embers as it climbed up the branches and reached, again, for the towering clouds. 

“I am Taryn Rhys. The Living Storm, Bringer of Rain, Carrier of Wind. My wings make the thunders of legend. I am the Thunderbird, and, once again, you are trespassing on sacred ground; and now, you will pay the ultimate price.” 

The hair on Dalton’s arms stood tall as the air in the clearing brightened to a blinding white. The air dried and he choked on his cracking tongue. A clap of thunder echoed across the clearing and a blast of lightning pushed Dalton out of existence. 

[radashes]

Echoes of Decay: A Grim Reality

In the twisted streets where shadows crawl,

Lurks a reality, dark and appall.

Among the ruins of shattered dreams,

Echoes of despair, sinister schemes.

Beneath the flickering lamplight's glare,

Lies a world consumed by despair.

Where the stench of decay fills the air,

Reality's horror, beyond compare.

In the alleyways where lost souls roam,

Haunted by sins, they call their own.

Whispers of corruption, secrets untold,

Reality's grip, a relentless hold.

Through the cracked windows of broken homes,

Gothic tales of innocence, overthrown.

Where the cries of the oppressed go unheard,

Reality's darkness, a chilling word.

In the halls of power, where darkness reigns,

Greed and corruption, inhuman chains.

Reality's nightmare, a grotesque display,

In the Gothic tapestry of our dismay.

So behold our reality, twisted and grim,

In the Gothic abyss, where light grows dim.

For in the heart of darkness, we find our plight,

A grotesque reality, shrouded in night.

[strokeofserenity]

Ellis Nightingale

[strokeofserenity]

Norman Finkelstein

[strokeofserenity]

Kamilla Tolnoe

[strokeofserenity]

-Francis Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby.

[strokeofserenity]

“Killing the flowers will not delay spring.”

(Al-Yarmouk Palestinian refugee camp in Damascus, Syria)

LITTLE PALESTINE, DIARY OF A SIEGE (2021) DIR. ABDALLAH AL-KHATIB

[strokeofserenity]

Robert Frost, My November Guest

[strokeofserenity]

MEISTER ECKHART

[strokeofserenity]

"Peace be upon the broken part in my heart, the one that does not make any noise."

𝐌𝐚𝐡𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡

[strokeofserenity]

“A traveller I am, and a navigator, and everyday I discover a new region within my soul.”

Khalil Gibran

[strokeofserenity]

Fyodor Dostoevsky

[strokeofserenity]