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prose poetry

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i left
simply because i was afraid
afraid of somebody loving me so intensely
afraid of somebody caring so much
it was uncharted grounds
it was the unfamiliar
and i was terrified
so i left, and i destroyed us

- the reality of it all // m.w

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~ It rained the moment you learnt my name, as if the gods knew from the beginning that we were doomed. Even the hands that pulled our fate trembled, paused, and with a flick, the night rolled in across the skies, hovering above two reverists consumed in their most ferocious desires。


words words wordsspilled wordswriterscreedwriterssongofthecloudswordsspilled thoughtsmy wordsexcerpt from a book i'll never writewritingpoetryportalpoetryriotpoeticstoriesspilled prosepieces of my heartprose poetrysplled inkwriters on tumblr It will be a concert of romance and symphonies, where the scores of your desires will be a compass of sighs scattered in fluids of sonatas; In the prose of my ode, we will make love an art, with its repertoire of fantasies.

romancesymphoniesdesiresprose poetrylove💕

Perhaps it was never meant to be

But your home in my heart forever you will be

I regret the memories we will never share

And the secret whispers you will never hear.


There’s a part of me you’ll never know

Cause I know in my gut I should never show

For should I ever reveal this secret chamber

All I’ll have are your memories for me to remember.


So hang onto my words and perfect image

I shall never taint it nor will I misplace it

I just hope you don’t live to regret

Our doomed connection destined from when we first met.


In My Heart You Reside

- soha.

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someone asked me what characteristics i want from a man. i paused for a while and said nice, funny, gentleman just like the usual, the ideals, and then i suddenly realized that what came from my mouth were not merely adjectives, they were your characteristics.

— r.b

can u believe i’m writing again???spilled inkspilled everythingyouproseprose poetryexcerpt from a book i'll never writeexcerpt from a story i'll never writewritersthoughtswords The Sodomiser of worlds looks up.  Depressive state.  Rancorous blemish. No longer is he able to conceal his fate.  The universe looking down.  Things have changed.  No longer does he feel fire of old suns burning in his skull or the cold, silent drifts in his heart.  Fighting off the elegiac definition of sovereignty in favor of vanishing forms.  No trace for his loyalties to weigh him against when there is only a black hole – terrible mystery, where gargantuan worms survive in the dark …

Never before has he felt such shame for who he is, but it’s starting to show. Eternal creature from the stars or an underdeveloped antidote?  With all the dominance he’s enjoyed: no magical tool against him.  Demons flocking to his bedside manner with greedy interest.  Reducing astral chaos to the molecular Oneness of Rath.  Wearing a serpent’s mask he manoeuvres through bleeding fields when a grovelling, mutated gentry continues to speak of gold.  Woven hardships into myth where its greatest sacrifice is its own pliable flesh: mourners in the vestibule bearing their expectant rectums …

Is he tired?  Could it be as simple as that?  The same as those stars & planets that have worn out their welcome in the universe.  Plague of Rath is singular, yet does not discriminate.  For a time one is given life through its raw message, destroying everything in its path in order to keep the deficit straight.  Holding the line within himself, never straying from the current of his pure methodology till now.  Considering, deeply, the worth of the race.  No longer motion free  – settling, invisible, in the psyches of strangers …

Could it be that he is out of touch with the destructive itch that started all: when pagan dramas lit the world with brute fire?  In a Barbarian Age when planets align for the first time in the minds of  outliers & soothsayers.  Still, it’s impossible to discern a remedy as it has been with him for so long.  Rooting around in guts of orbiting kingdoms – thrones of dross, faded away –  blasted apart by sodomy & time.  Endless conquests of a bestial nature where each planetary body is absorbed back into the Crude – torn apart fibre by fibre until knowledge of pain recedes.

Artwork By Kristian Olsson

CCParkerprose poetryKristian Olssondark artoccult

Tell me

How do I hide from the terror of silence

While avoiding the anxious drone

Of untethered noise

How do I hear the laughter and joy

Without also picking up on the cries

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“We burn for people who don’t even feel for us. That is a disastrous way to learn to love.”

- nail-in-the-wall

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6,874 notes

“if it’s toxic, let it breathe elsewhere. stop waiting for bad love to feel good again. stop waiting for bad love to taste sweet. empathy won’t change stone into gold. time won’t change poison into honey.”

- iambrillyant

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3,698 notes
I tried. I hope you know that. You know that right? I tried harder than I ever did before. I salted bullet holes and mended my own wounds so you wouldn’t think I was damaged because I wasn’t, at least not with you. I stitched myself back together; I tried so hard to make it work, to make things work, to make us work somehow but that wasn’t enough.
—  Ming D. Liu
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Let’s go back in time

Think about high school, when you were riding the bus one morning. Maybe you were exhausted, after only two hours of sleep. You were sipping an energy drink, barely keeping your eyes open as you try to finish a homework assignment that’s due first period. You can’t focus your eyes enough to read the paper, so you give up, but the teacher never collects it.

What about middle school? Did you have that one really funny teacher who knew how to have a fun class? Did they have a sarcastic attitude, and make sassy remarks to the popular kids that made everyone laugh? Was it comforting to be on that side of the situation?

Did you ever make up a really elaborate game with your friends that would take hours to play? You only played it a few times, but it became an initiation to your friend group. Were you heroes, or surviving in the wilderness?

Remember how autumn felt when you gathered all the leaves from your yard just to jump into them? You and your friends or siblings took turns jumping in, yelling about how it’s not as fluffy after they jumped in. When you heard your names called in for dinner, did you pretend you didn’t hear?

Did you ever have to put your gloves and hat and scarf near the radiator or space heater so they could dry while you are dinner, just so you can go back outside again? You would rush to eat the hot meal, and sip hot chocolate out of your favorite mug, but you kept checking to make sure the sun hadn’t set yet.

Can you remember a time when your head didn’t touch the underside of the kitchen table? Did you hide under it, for fun or otherwise? When feet shuffled past you, did you giggle to yourself as those feet call your name?

Have you fallen asleep on a long car ride, sitting up in your car seat, and woken up just as you pull into your driveway? Did you pretend you were still sleeping so you would be carried to your bed? Was it dark and warm outside? Did you feel safe?

Do you remember feeling so small, and still feeling so safe?

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4,349 notes

Read This, Slowly

You, the person reading this right now. Yes, you. You are a wonderful human being who deserves all the love and respect in the universe.

Now, you might be thinking no, no, not me, I’m not worth it, but you are. As surely as I’m writing this, as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow, as surely as you think the night sky is beautiful– or not– you should be loved. And if you think you aren’t, I’ll step in to fill the gap.

Now I hope, whoever you are, your day is just that little bit brighter.

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Sometimes the person we love isn’t as good for us as we think. It’s as simple as that.

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2,906 notes

“i am not sorry about the parts of me that no longer exist that you still romanticize. i am not sorry about the versions of myself that expired that you still hold on to. i am only sorry that you haven’t grown since the last time you knew me. my growth owes you no apologies.”


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2,606 notes


She was war

raw, red wounds and pain

All my peace

seemed so far away

thunder struck again

She was disaster

eyes afire, tumultuous desire

beauty held

the coming storm

I was sorrow

heart struck, out of luck

in her joy

she kept me warm

She was death

winter cold

in the unleavened black

I held her close

breathed all my life

until it

brought her back

There was destruction,

and salvation

the pleasure and the pain

We lived, we died

we hoped, and lied


I’d do it all again

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i used to think life would be better spent if alone. no strings, no attachment, no suffering. but then, life itself moved me towards people who changed my mind. people who made me believe that this life of mine would be much nicer, much worthy if i had some company. people who care, stand by me and are there for me. the same way i have come to be there for them.
—  best friends.
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I have only dreams, dreams,
—  Julia de Burgos, from Song of the Simple Truth: Poems; “My Beloved,”

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I’ve always only been able to love people for the bad, for the secrets in their palms, for the matching knives in our backs, for the bitterness they hold onto like a lifeline, but I loved you for the good. Until I got a taste of something darker. You can take the monsters away from the girl and take the girl away from the monsters but you can’t take the monster out of the girl. I would have loved the delicate way you tore me open, been awed by the beauty of it, if I didn’t so desperately want to keep your soft pieces soft. Not everyone should have razor blade skin. I thought you understood that. I hoped at the very least you would jolt me into caring about myself, but all I could think about was a more elegant way to come undone. It isn’t your fault I’m not whole, but within my brokenness there was love, and now I don’t know if I can stomach giving it to anyone else.


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“recreate yourself, endlessly, shamelessly, recklessly. recreate yourself, over and over again. you are never the finished article and you never have to be. you are allowed to keep adding color to the canvas of possibilities that you are until you like what you see.”


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1,076 notes