u n t i t l e d .

” In a circle full of cotton melodies and baked apple pies, I crave and hold a broken periphery of words like an augmentation of truth, a point of concave solitude. I rub my skin and pinch myself, to uncover words unsaid, undiscovered. ”

I sit, beneath a bower of insecurities, to feel, a surge of emotions and pour myself in blue ink.

I then Think.
Think.
And Think.

Tap my pen and scratch my head to flow these letters and phrases out on sheets, but words just don’t seem to find their way out on paper anymore and my mind slips eachtime I ink something like a mother’s touch, to a place unknown.

I try closing my pale eyes, like a water caltrop in ocean currents to put some relief on the manical themes running in my head. But nothing I do seems to help me anymore.

A bulk of emotions wash down through my throat, dive inside a feeling I dread the most, of not being able to pour, my inky thoughts on these dusty sheets and parchment soul.

tick.

tock.

tick.

tock.

tick.

The clocks keep spinning,obliviously. Seconds turn into minutes , minutes into hours and hours into days. Days? Yes. Yet all that my pen has done ever since is tap. I remember spewing a thousand emotions here but none in the form of words as of now I can find.

So, I keep staring at the paper pasted on my blank wall for hours instead, only to be horrified by what I read next “Poetry” in Frost’s words, “…is when an emotion has found its thought and that thought has found its words.”

Did it read words? Words that once held my hand and helped me cross the void in my soul? words that don’t belong to me anymore, or are these words I have failed to find my emotions into? I don’t know.

Drowning under the blankets of my own emotions, pondering if there was a way out of my mind , I just hope for angels to come down from heaven, pick my hand and help me write.

For I can’t live like this for long, tie my demons to a rocket and shoot them in space, I’m ready to burn alive with words still flowing through my soul in blue ink but not with my words being backspaced into a void, anymore.

// 06:42 am //

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first few quoted lines are an adaptation of Devika Mathur’s work called “words” (she has been a huge inspiration behind this work of mine) 💙

( Artwork by Mienar )