#~Romrir

[ink-on-paper]

Shards of Past Reflections: vol.1 act.2

Lost and alone, the room was no longer a safe place, the projects that once lived there were gone, now their broken pieces were scattered across the floor.

A masterpiece was what they needed. To regain all they were losing, they had to work harder. But nothing was enough.

Every correction was a new mark of failure, but they couldn't avoid revisions. Failed tests, dead words, costant delusions of expectations. Binded to their creations, the artist fell with them in the mud.

No one's voice could reach them anymore, too deep in the spiral they were running, desperate for an exit.

And they tried to reach perfection, they tried so hard their glass arms started to crack. Long black lines crossed their fingers and hands, holding the brush hurted so much. But they had to ignore it, the aching pain that followed the spreading of the splits as they continued to write.

They covered with bandages that ugly mess to save the beloved mask. But the mistakes multiplied with every try and the sorrow drowned them, lost in the reflection of the stranger in the mirror.

One night the solution became clear to them, they needed to destroy everything and start again from scratch.

Pages were trown in the air, numbers and symbols flied across the room, torn paper reigned on the floor, with the shattered glass and liquid ink of the inkwells. The corrosive tears that took their eyes left holes where they fell, burning scars on the cheeks. The bandages on the arms were cut by the glass shards of the cracks.

But in the end, covered in the remains of their failures, they knew it was useless. They would only mess it up again, ruin forever a perfect blank base for creators.

But once you've picked up your brush, you have to follow through.

Everything hurted them so much, from walking to taking, but they kept creating. And destroying. And creating again. And editing. And destroying again. Spilled blood and broken hope, that's what make a work of art.

But they couldn't hold on, they started losing faith and their grip on their world weakened, too.

When their feet started passing through the clouds, they knew it was over. The last mistake, they had failed their own nature.

The fall was long and painful, with winds so strong, their body was covered in cuts. The landing was worst.

Their legs broken in big glass pieces. It took months to put them back together, and even longer to use them again.

With clipped wings, now they're lost in a new world with nothing, not even themself.

[ink-on-paper]

Mi dispiace

Siedo a questo tavolo e non riesco a far uscire le parole, si incastrano tra loro. Perché liberarle vorrebbe dire guardarle in faccia e questo non posso permettermelo.

Mi sento affogare tra quel che devo e voglio fare. Cosí reprimo il rimpianto fino a diventare di cera. Tutto è grigio e intorpidito, perché se risvegliassi ció che é celato non riuscirei a concentrarmi sul recidere le catene. L'inerzia dell'animo è sovrana delle mie giornate.

Io devo, trascinato dagli eventi che devo sostenere. Delusione eguale a reclusione, l'implicito messaggio é scolpito nella mia memoria. E intanto resto indietro.

Tutto deve essere neutro, alienarmi da me stesso perché fa male. Ciò che fa piú male è allontanarmi da te. Vedo chi è riuscito con molto meno sforzo e lo invidio, perché non é il mio talento.

Vorrei poter stare con te per ore, da soli, girare per la città notturna o lasciare che il silenzio riempi la stanza. I nostri momenti sono quelli che danzano davanti ai miei occhi quando i pensieri sono lasciati liberi di viaggiare. Ma sono incatenato a regole.

~Ecar

~Romrir

[ink-on-paper]

Shards of Past Reflections: vol.1 act.1

A child with stars in their eyes and the gift of talent in their hands. A powerful creature with the ability to create life, to manipulate the strings of number that describe reality. A young demiurge of the cosmo.

The wonderful results of their works were exibited everywhere, but never for fame of attention. They've always worked hard so their structures won't fail. Everyone could see it, they surely had what is needed to become a creator. And knowing this, the light in their eyes matched the ones in the night sky.

So many were drawn closer by the shooting stars that traveled across their eyes while they were lost in the creation process.

But the artist had to focus, no time for distractions. They were alone, but the loneliness was filled with their projects and they were happy. They knew who they were.

But the more they worked, the higher the stakes, as the codes became more and more complex, and the efforts to maintain their status drained their soul.

Hours on hours spent with the brush in hand, on simple equations. Their peers resolved giant problems so fast, while they were closed in their room, losing their gift, their youth. Cause one mistake it's all that it takes for everything to come crumbling down.

And they started to hate their creations, imperfect errors, incomplete disasters.

Hours became days and their disperate tears burned their cheeks. Demiurges don't cry.

The drops that have fallen on the paper marked it with red. Blood escaped from what was left of their eyes, the remains were corroded slime, slowly falling down. Bloody mess, bloody holes, as the stars lost their sky. Black voids with red reflects were left, as a reminder of what they had lost.

They enchanted a blindfold to be their new eyes and their mask, to hide the price they had to pay for their art.

They need to keep pushing toward their goal, to justify their obsession and the consequences of it. Planning and calculating every details, for perfection.

[ink-on-paper]

You've pulled me out of my room, just to see me rot

It's so tiring when everything hurts. Consequences bang at your door, normally a reminder of your responsability, but now they mutate in small insects that bite my thoughts and kill my energy. Doing, doing, until you break. Then you're useless and they will trow you away.

Oh wait, they would do it anyway. Just because they feel like it. You're just a toy for their amusement just as much as you use them as a distraction from the pain. We are creature of interest, only engaging relationships for our gain, our profit.

But now, it still hurts. Every activity you love, now is demonic. Just the thought of it repels you. As if a mysterious invisible force turned the switch and everything is now too much.

The mood drops, the mind spirals and everything Hurts Hurts Hurts Hurts

Your head is filled with flies, their sound is deafening and the world is blurry. Can't concentrate with statics in my ideas, can't speak with stones in my troat.

But i will do it anyway. Because i need to be a good friend. A good sibling. A good person. And to be good i need to be with you, spend time with you, speak to you. Because friends honors eachother masks. I turn my traslator on, repeat my acting and i'm ready for you.

And i will stay focused on my duties, can't fail just because i go out, interacting. It's not normal. I need to be normal, or i will die.

So keep on lying, gaslight yourself into thinking you're fine and the show must go on.

Or you will lose everything you've sacrificed pieces of yourself for.

~Romrir

~Ecar

~Muhan