makarria

[makarria]

I refuse to be discovered suffering in front of someone who put and raised me in this survival.

I'd rather die waiting in the purgatory where all sinners wait in agony or forthrightly burn in the infernal region where I suffer in front of the devil.

The Errorist, "The Pride Of A Spiteful Daughter."

[makarria]

𝓘 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 an illusion where I can see you up this close—it's kind of daranged, 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀.

is it just me who misses you or is it my brain altering my reality just so i can see you?

The Errorist "The Illusion Of You."

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[makarria]

𝒲as crediting a "thank you" at every end, enough for this throbbing heartache after all those landscape of memories that 𝒘𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓.

I am still paying for the consequences of getting hurt. but, it is what it is. this is how it supposed to end; to keep replaying it.

The Errorist, "Is It Really What It Is?"

[makarria]

𝒴ou're the brightest dream of my insomnolent nights; the muse for every prose and poem i wrote on 𝒎𝒚 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔.

tell me, did you enchant me with your crescents of glow because you know how much I crave for it, then let me go?

The Errorist, "La Luna: Moonlit Letters"

[makarria]

ℐ swear, I felt the battlefield of this love; I'm out here 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍.

but it's time to end this war, changing my strategies so that my feelings will die instead of me this time.

The Errorist, "Game Of The Survivalist."

[makarria]

ℐf this aching heart of mine stops beating for you, what will become of me once these 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒆?

what kind of enchanting potion have you brewed and offered to me? I gasp for its antidote, for I'm afraid it might poison my sanity; i'm intoxicated.

The Errorist, "Declaration: The Stupidity Of Love."

[makarria]

𝒴ou are the daughter of your mother. every spiraling emotion you have 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔,

and you are bound to feel it deep inside you. because you are fated to face this love with a side of war.

The Errorist, "Mother: The Cruel Lover."

[makarria]

ℐ don't want to retell a story that whispers its ghostly tale, echoing the sound of a 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓.

so, no, you don't get to tell me to embrace it—don't tell me to love and recapitulate a memory that maimed me and was close to killing me.

The Errorist, "Unrest Spirit of Folklore."

[makarria]

𝒮purting blood and torrenting tears. so much of all that, and 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕?

and amidst life and death—even if i keep saying getting buried is much better than being a living thing—why do i still choose life—to live, to yearn, to hope, and to consider?

The Errorist, "Death-dealing Sorrows."