Posts tagged Words
For Intellect. For Emotion. For Substance.
There’s something about writing that doesn’t feel honest anymore. I sit in front of a screen, fingers typing away on a keyboard, writing an infinite number of words and yet… they’re all meaningless. Maybe writing isn’t as pure as I used to think it was. With all this scrutiny, the fear of sounding vulnerable just turns these words into shallow holes devoid of any significance. I remember once listening to a song just to hear the lyrics, just to feel the tight grasp of the verses suffocating my soul with longing and relatablity. How simple words could capture an emotion so vividly, leaving me a sobbing mess of sentiment. In and out of the context of language came the taste of love and lust, the very essence of passion, all inscribed like scripture. Faith had a definition engraved in bereaving hearts and lifeless souls that found refuge in romanticized jargon and home amidst the chorus of colloquy. Our words have become so far removed from deity that we’ve grown accustomed to calling them politics, so formulated and barren, they could have no evocative expression but to assume the form of dogma.
I hope your hands throb with the agony of the heart you once held.
Human decency seems to be a forgotten trait.
It was the kind of intensity that burned
Deep into memories; engraved
Permanently stitched into history
We had all the makings of forever
And yet you left me feeling breathless
Knowing I could not breath without you
Your compassion soon turned passionless
And this exhilarating flame fell dormant
To distrust and faded honesty
Branding you a scarlet letter
I often have trouble with words
Not in their sound
But in the way that they perform
They frequent misconception
Recurrent moments of misunderstanding
Toneless through text
But with the tendency to tinge volumes
Either way coming out misconstrued
Because in the recollection of future histories
It’s these words that remain remembered
Out of context
As simple run ons that ran on
The before and after’s withering past thoughts
And all we’ve memorized are these specific instances
That specify definite words we recall
In isolation their definitions faulty the memory
But I just can’t remember the rest of what you said
So I piece together separately
Each and every word you denoted
Passively passing pathos in every sense
Or maybe I put too much value in your word?
It’s all you gave me anyway
Today they mean the world
But tomorrow they are nothing but terms
Somehow losing expression
At a loss of meaning, significance
In time becoming recollections of momentary value
Exponentially subsiding into irrelevance
Words are just words after all
I hate seeing my mom cry.
Sarah Kay
“There is a girl who still writes you; she doesn’t know how not to.”
(Source: dw-dge)
Lost in this toxic pool of thought, I’m swimming against an overwhelming ocean tide of regret that seems to have broken me down just enough to let me know I’m damaged. So here I am, bathing in this beautiful abyss made up of my own chaos and I’m feeling like I’m drowning in solitude. And it happens to be the most tranquil seclusion of lethal reflection I could ever sink in.
Junkie
I’m haunted by the subtle grace of your lips lingering like a whisper on the veer of my neck. Your words trace themselves along the crevices of my heart, ingrained like scriptures, although I’m feeling quite faithless these days. I’m lost in the empty space your distance left behind, adrift in the intrusion of your memory. My thoughts are transient nomads of amnesia, ignorant of the solace torment forsaken in your absence. My breaths take you in like homage, high off bittersweet agony and foolish devotion. My hands reminisce in the essence of your touch, your kiss saunters the brink of my desires, leaving me helpless and fiending for your love.
His touch was soothing. Like a tranquil form of ecstasy, I got high off my lack of inhibitions and fell deep into the abyss of mesmerized. His eyes dug bottomless to my soul like an excavation of emotion. He carved feeling into the soils of my skin, branding his name on every curve of my body like I was to be his forever. His fingers inched their way to the clasp of my bleeding heart, nails digging into the fissures of past love affairs, filling voids with his sentiment. I’d found myself suffocating in the heat of a dream like passion, a tasteful ardor only fantasies were made of.
The moon peeked beneath the shadows of broken clouds beaming through rays of sunlight. I could hear the haunting tales of my evening whispered at the tip of lucid tongues, unforgettable. He was a constant reminder, with a slightly smirked smile on a crested shape of indecency. I was overwhelmed with emotion, anxious with sentiment that sat deep in my womb of worry. The scent of mistake enthralled me with a sense of nausea and an unsettling undertone of impropriety. My heart was lament, strangled with the unseemliness of mourning, tormented by the numbing pain of regret. It was a bittersweet kind of agony.
