guynamedcolt

[guynamedcolt]

Hanya Yanagihara, from A Little Life (2015)

[guynamedcolt]

Explained HRTF Valorant Audio Setting- All You Need To Know

Discover the steps to activate HRTF Valorant settings, enhancing audio in tactical FPS games. Enhance your gameplay by accessing depth and noise information, gaining a competitive advantage.

[guynamedcolt]

Eleven Famous Celebrities That Still Play Valorant in 2023-24

Discover the eleven famous celebrities who still play Valorant in 2023-24. See who's taking interest in the game!  Exciting news for fans of the game!

[guynamedcolt]

VALORANT GAME FOR PC - A 5v5 Character-Based First Person Shooter in 2023!

Challenge yourself in the world of Valorant! Play this 5v5 character-based first person shooter with your tactical agent abilities, aim, and quick decisions deciding your fate. Compete against worldwide Valorant Agent Variants and earn the Valorant Radiant Rank in Unrated and Competitive Game Modes. It's time to dominate the battlefield!

[guynamedcolt]

@agateskittles

What is the point that lies in waking up in the morning?

_

The soft sunbeams scatter across the floor, half eaten by the shadows. But you’re not looking at that, are you? You’re looking at your hands. Your half chewed nails and the skin that stretches over your knuckles when you close your fist. You haven’t slept all night, wondering what it would be like if you could just sleep and never wake up. If you could just lie on your bed and shut all that reality outside your head. Sometimes you go weeks just sleeping it off. You call it “focusing on my mental health”. Sometimes you spend so many nights wide awake, wondering how your body doesn’t seem to fit in your skin. We could all be simulations. A galaxy in a bottle. A little experiment we never wanted to be a part of. What is the point of waking up in the morning when you could just sleep forever. What is the point of doing all these things I don’t like, pleasing all these people, working my ass off to be heavily taxed by capitalists who are only using all of it to increase the disparity between the poor and the rich. If we’re all just a simulation, what is the point of having to go through all this pain?

You still wake up. Maybe you brush your teeth. Maybe, if you have a sister like mine, you’ll be forced to shower regularly because she says it’ll make you feel at least a little clean. Maybe you’ll eat too much. Or too little. Or not at all. How does it matter anyway? In the grand scheme of things, nothing seems to matter. All that pain and misery that clings to you like a second skin can’t be washed off with ‘distractions’ or yoga. But a good friend once told me that none of it matters. We’re right. But it does get better. We’re the first ones to see every bit of the life that’s been splayed beyond our feet. And if we can stick around and watch the planet burn down in flames from solar flares, we’re seeing something no one else has been able to. All this pain is an opportunity to feel something. Our lives are just a cumulation of emotions we develop from different stimuli. Circumstances, things we choose to do, decisions we make, the lives we lead. Maybe there is no point in waking up. But since euthanasia isn’t legal yet and there’s no other way to live this life, maybe it’s worth a shot to do new things and see how they turn out? If we’ve already made so many mistakes, it’s worth going through a ton of another set of terrible ones only to see what the outcome would be like. If we’re constantly so afraid of change, we’ll never see what we can become. It can’t really get worse, can it? The worst possible outcome is death. Maybe heartbreak. But we’re not afraid of either anymore. So maybe the point in waking up in the morning is just to see the sunbeams on the floor, the shadows they create. Light against dark. You don’t have to do much to see it all. You just have to wake up.

[guynamedcolt]

Can y'all ask me questions I can give profound, emo, poetic answers to? Like “Where do broken hearts go?”

I just honestly need stuff I can write poetry on. I’ve been on static for too long.

[guynamedcolt]

what’s in your eyes?

Windows to canvases housing fragile art.

[guynamedcolt]

@autpax

What happens when worlds collide?

_

When planets collide against one another, they form dents at the point of collision. Holes in their lives that are too large to be rebuilt.

When an asteroid collided with the earth, it left a hole in the planet. One so large that it couldn’t be filled with the nebulae or space. But in losing a part of itself, the earth found a faithful companion. It controlled the pulling and pushing of tides, it created hurricanes that would shatter forests. But it gave light. It gave us something to write poems and songs on. We didn’t call it destruction. We called it love.

When tectonic plates collide, the destruction is so massive that it creates earthquakes. But in the end, it builds. It creates mountains and hills, inching higher and higher every moment that they grow closer.

When worlds collide, it’s destructive. We lose some of our friends, we lie to our parents, we wreck our sleep schedules. But in the end, even if they drift apart or leave us broken, it builds something. A new experience. If they stay forever, we find a new companion. Our intertwined hands are the mountains we’ve built. Our bodies, a mesh of shattered stardust.

Sometimes we’re too blinded by the sun to see the moon illuminating our darkest nights.

Even if the consequences are absolutely terrible, it leaves something in the end.

Maybe it’s worth finding out what it may be.

-Tamarind.

[guynamedcolt]

Where does Love go?

For abysmal hearts, the love spirals down until it’s buried within the darkness.Sometimes it begins with a spark. Sometimes, with warmth. Fades away into the silence that webs its way into the corners of your house.Love? It never leaves.It just fades.When people are too afraid of being vulnerable enough to the spiders clawing into their head.When they look at your face one day and realise they deserved better.Love goes where everything else does.Into oblivion.

[guynamedcolt]

We fall into a comfortable rhythm of echoes. The warmth of your skin, the sound of your footsteps. All after you’re gone.

We fall into echoes like blood into water. Creating fragments of patterns until we can’t be pieced whole. Our dna marks the sides of the glass, pushes and breaks through the water, collides at the bottom. Until our hands are the blood. Until we’re gasping for air through something that was so clear until we created the miasma. Until we’re gasping for air with no stars in sight.

Our echoes fall back into us like stars falling out of rhythm in a galaxy. The blackhole in our hearts swallows them whole. Everything out of sync with the harmony is perished in the end.

The music of the spheres breathe life into us until we become our own symphonies. Until we’re taught to numb the music in our heads to mechanically pursue materialism.

I’ll never understand how we aspire to reinvent the universe when we’re all fractal geometry and space is musical inconsistencies we’re conditioned never to sing along with.

-Tamarind Fall

[guynamedcolt]

I am toxic.

I love you till you bleed.

I love you till I’m so far into your head that you start seeing constellations mid-afternoon.

Flecks of black in sunflowers.

The miasma is so heavy in your heart that you wish you never learned how to love me.

I love you till you start noticing all the smoke I webbed into your skin. You start noticing all the patterns. The screaming. The apologies. You start questioning whether you ever loved me or if it was just the loneliness that drove you into my arms.

You start questioning your sanity. Never mine.

I manipulated you into liking the person I am.

I show myself off as the prey. Soft, beautiful, intelligent. Until you realise that I’ve been the predator all along. That there’s venom on my tongue. That I’m watching your every move and I’ll eat you alive every time you stagger down to my front porch, begging for forgiveness.

You say you’re the toxic one. We both ask for forgiveness. We plead to each other until the other one breaks. Until we decide that yes, it must’ve been your fault all along.

We push each other to the edge of the cliff. We make misery our weapon. Until one of us jumps off the edge. And the other one weaves them into their list of ex lovers who abandoned them in the end.

-Tamarind Fall; When we turned love into a game, knowing that we’re both going to lose.

[guynamedcolt]

Warm orange spills over heaving chests.

Wax dripping down their spine,

Bruises darkening with flame

Hands deep in gasoline.

The wick is a graveyard of tender flesh

Bodies burnt down to soot.

Stained white sheets are a crime scene,

The waning twilight burying its dark in their fingernails.

Churches crumbling in your palms is the way you tell yourself you’re a candle.

Crystal webs crawling in your head remind you that your cold hearth is waiting to be claimed.

A forest fire was what taught you to follow the rubble.

Until the soil caved in.

Until the fire took refuge in the echoes of your grief.

-Tamarind Fall; Echoes.

[guynamedcolt]

Why do the decent/alright suffer while the evil persist?

The decent/alright suffer because they have a conscience they listen to. They have a properly functioning moral compass. And those same ideologies they’ve set for themselves in the past always find ways to screw them over. To be kinder, they become selfless. To improve themselves, they risk change. They care.The evil, they persist. They change their morality according to what’s convenient for them. They don’t want to be better people because the evil already think they’re good at heart and what they’re doing is for the best. They manipulate situations in their favour. They’re so confident within themselves that they don’t realise what they’re doing is wrong.And the thing with society is that we tend to believe the people who are more confident. The good people are more shaky about themselves. They create posts about self love because they have difficulty accepting every part of themselves. While the evil? They’re very confident in their skin. They make everyone believe in what they have to say. They show themselves as the prey until it’s too late to realise that they were the hunter. They take what they want and leave the robbed on the streets, apathetic about the poor, the starving.

[guynamedcolt]

I too have left a home, and it felt like the ranging fire too, even into today

The rancid smell of rot lines goosebumps along my skin.

There is something about this house that I can’t place.

Something burnt. Something festering.

I built this home inside my chest and it’s too dark to navigate my way through it.

This is what they mean when they say you have to discover yourself, isn’t it?

You have to light a candle and sit in the middle of a cold hearth. Feel the ashes on your fingertips.

You have to unscrew the nails, pull the floorboards out, dig into the dirt until you find something to ravage.

Every seven years, all your cells replace themselves and you turn into a completely new person.

So why did I expect to just build this house and hope it will give me sanctuary forever?

How could I hope to salvage parts of me when they don’t even belong in my body anymore?

I have no use for the walls where the paint is chipping off. I have no use for the debris I collected as memoirs from my storms.

All that gasoline I stored in the attic has been spilled. It drips through and eats at the paint.

All the bright colours I decorated my walls with have peeled away.

This is not the childhood home I always wanted to live in.

This is a haunted house.

The manic screams echoing through the hallways, the heavy footsteps of ghosts of memories ringing in my ears.

This is why I have always been afraid to discover myself again.

Even the mirror doesn’t know who I am anymore.

Every time I’m left alone in this wreckage, the cold fireplace reminds me of how I let my flame die.

However much I clean the cobwebs, scrub at the floors, the walls, I can’t seem to get rid of the scratches and the stench embedded deep into the structure.

I built this house because I had nowhere else to go.

I built it for those shivering from their own thunderstorms.

I let them in when they promised they won’t put the fire out.

The air still rings with the sound of the slamming of the door.

I wanted to be warm. I wanted to give refuge to those who needed it.

I created art and they threw it into the fire. I convinced myself I don’t mind as long as it’s keeping them warm. I don’t have any art left in me anymore.

I’m too tired and cold to repair the broken fixtures. Too exhausted to fix the concrete chipping off around the doorframe. Too tired to clean the windows. Too tired to think of the storms whose dust is still blocking sunlight from pouring in.

I don’t want to live here anymore.

I want to use the remaining gasoline and burn this place until it’s been reduced to rubble.

I want to sit in the middle of the flames and hope that I’ll be warm, one last time.

I don’t want to leave, cold and desolated.

I want to leave like a raging fire.

-Tamarind Fall; I’m too afraid to see who I’ve become.

[guynamedcolt]

I write poetry in the limbos, softly savour the black and grey. There’s both agony and liberty, the monochrome of a life built from scratch is more colourful than already built ones given to us. The extremes that come as the price of breathing, the spaces we’ve built being stolen from us, leaving only suffocation. We learn how to breathe within the walls, finding escapism in worse entrapments, until our chests are filled with the debris of concrete and smoke. What we create, we become. The sombre cold of the marble, the fading mezzanines, we created this art until it settled in us. The art and the artist, slowly greying together, and only one of them truly dies.

The world we created settled deep within us, everything we tried to trap is now trapped within, the curiosity we sacrificed in exchange of romanticised misery, the paints we swallowed to fit within the greys.

There is something about this life that scorches you from the inside. All those swallowed colours slowly fester into rot, until you’re comfortable in your uneasiness.

I write in limbos what the dark and the light have written into me. I write in sunsets, tales of the void. Everything seems more colourful when you’re trying to escape. Until you reach the end and find nothing worth reaching for. Compliance leaves bruises, escapism forges scars. A balance struck between the two taints the soul with enough colour for growth. Lasting enough to leave an imprint on the skin, but not deep enough to leave something so permanent that it eats you from the inside.

-Tamarind Fall; Of blood and stone.

[guynamedcolt]

What made you make this blog ? And such a young age I’m very curious. It’s very kindhearted of you.

Severe depression, I think. I’d sit on the last bench and tune everyone out at school, constantly writing morbid poetry because the paper was the only thing that didn’t judge me. Tumblr is the one place I could maintain my anonymity and I trusted it with my writing. Since I first started this blog, a lot of things have happened in my life and I’ve been in constant transition, trying to learn how to cope with situations. It’s been difficult. I realised that the way this blog is my safe space, it could be a safe space for everyone else who’s going through their own issues as well. Coincidentally, a lot of the asks I get are very similar to my current situations, so I end up giving advice to other people and that helps me figure my own issues out. So, yeah, I don’t think it’s really that kindhearted of me. I’m just going along with whatever is being thrown at me at this point and I can only hope that the situations in other people’s lives don’t worsen like mine always have, and that my advice actually helps them through it, at least for a while.