Midnight Musings - Blog Posts

Tw: self harm

Broken mosaic

Broken like a mosaic, this grief is beautiful.

Cold as a grave, this silence is peaceful.

A pain drenched tartarus was what made childhood.

A longing filled asphodel is what makes life cruel.

Sinister evil spirits, they whisper in the dark.

Cold harsh voice, it will shatter up your heart.

The silence kept saying with such delicacy.

But mind kept begging for sincere secrecy.

So close your little eyes, home is full of ghosts.

Hide your own self, it is terrifying to be known.

Shred your skin, once again you'll be filled with relief.

One last cut; an eternity of sleep.

Loneliness sometimes takes strange shapes I suppose, there is a kind that the fervently wants recorded in word or image every thought and deed, an underlying fear of being forgotten, afraid of never being truly known. Perhaps the feverish words scrawled in the middle of the night are just intended to be a reaffirmation of your existence, even though no one might read it.

words by me. an excerpt from the opening chapter of my novel ©/

Life is art

Art is beauty

Others are modeled

Life adds to them

Builds up their beauty

I’m carved by life

It takes and takes and takes

I’m art

I’m beauty

That eventually disappears

Because life has taken too much

My heart, it soars

Spending not a single day chained to the earth no longer

While my body, it rots

Beneath the daisy field

My knees buckle,

My mind, it bends

My mouth stumbles

Over the words it borrows

From others with less sorrows

Tightrope Walker

I’m struggling,

Stumbling like a failing tightrope walker

I turn and want to blame someone

For sabotaging the rope,

For distracting me

But there’s no one but me

I abandoned safety net and balancing pole

Instead there’s darkness waiting should I fall

There’s no way of knowing what’s down there

Should I tumble, would I crack?

Should I fall, would I break?

Should I jump, would I

Die

Streetlamp light disturbs the midnight time

Distorted shadow, running along the asphalt

It might be mine

Mourning Dead Days

The days

I expect them, wait for them

And when they pass, I realise

They're dead days

Gone and lost,

Rotten days

And of them too many,

That have been too much

I mourn them still

And it whispers

Maybe I do remember.

The quiet thoughts in dark corners during rainy days or sunny mornings.

I remember losing. Losing against thoughts that snuck up on me.

Is that form beside me a friend? It whispers to me, like a friend would, like we share a secret.

It’s the secret to why I feel like this. The whispers are heavy when they reach my ears. Words with weight to them.

My knees shake. It’s cold. It's the rain. Is it the light breeze? There’s sun. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands.

I don’t know what’s gripping me. I don’t know what’s holding me down.

I can’t stand up.

It won’t let me go. It’s in my legs, in my arms. Weight, so much weight. It holds my hand. And it whispers.

Potential

Hush

Too far, too wide, too fast

Not yet

Don’t go

Don’t, won’t

Don’t, can’t

Not now

Beware

Hush now

Haven’t done, won’t do

Couldn’t do, won’t do

What can I do?

Can’t do

And can’t and can’t and can’t

I’m scared

Don’t ask

Wastefulness

I don’t

know

I don’t know

how to stop

Stop the tears from falling

Stop the fears from showing

Stop a life from being wasted

Please stop me

Stop me from wasting my life

Stop wasting a life on me

Summer Blues

I miss the cold

The foggy air, the gloomy sky

The grey clouds

For a short time my feelings appear justified

When the snow covers the ground

When the cold winds make people shiver

I don’t feel like a burden

People start talking about winter blues

And I believe my blues are less unusual

It’s the dry air that hurts on the skin

Which makes me hope that it’s normal to hurt within

And when the sun comes out

Flowers bloom, people laugh

I feel more alone

It’s staying up at night

Listening to the ticking of the clock,

the sounds from outside.

It's being distracted for just a short time

by the light of the streetlight

shining through the carelessly closed shutters

It’s hoping not having to face the next day

It’s numbing fear

Waking up the next morning,

starting the day with newfound motivation

It’s creeping up throughout the day

Doing the dishes,

writing an essay,

drinking coffee

And suddenly it’s there