quietharmonystarfish

[quietharmonystarfish]

"You see, I tried to find a pattern within the poems of Plath To find a meaning from beneath the surface of her repetitive nature, A way to remind herself about the hardships, a way to cement the truth into stone And yet there is none. For she is a writer, that death after death left her undeniably alone. And though, I know, That my own poems are very much unlike her own Mine all rambles and hers very much talent Perhaps there’s something that ties us all together. For we are, we are, we are. I read that she once slashed her legs to see if she could kill herself. And whilst mine own intentions were not the same sort of her own, We share the same actions but She struggled. An understatement at most For she tried to die two times before she did and yet I somehow seem to think that my however many panic attacks Somehow are comparable to that? No. I am trying to write to get everything out, much like Plath, or Woolf who left everything they had on a page. And still similarly to Plath and Woolf there’s something relating me to both. [Because his scent is still soaking into my own jumper and I can’t wash it away] Perhaps a river would do better? The dirt and the grime could wash away even the unholiest of sins But this poem has turned mainly into that of a ramble through the winter fields with the wind blowing you one way and another, never quite making up its mind I’m sorry But the rhythm has gone, and the theme was floating away within the first line. You see I was hoping this poem could somehow rhyme And yet, it won’t. Even with the half you can see that I am perhaps somewhat close. Maybe the end is near and maybe the things I’ve said to the people in the purple stained room on the bright coloured sofa aren’t at all a problem. They’re just normal and they’ll let me go. Goodbye, nice to meet you. ‘yes, they’re all normal, her thoughts are normal’ But that will not be the case. I know it won’t. Because the strangers that have come up to me and their words are similar to the ones on my chest, Perhaps perhaps perhaps What a lovely word, the aspect of doubt and fear and hope. Perhaps I won’t die, perhaps I will, perhaps it’ll be swift, perhaps it’ll be slow perhaps I'll suffocate, my heart will give in or ill faint with no explanation to decorate my limp body covering the floor. This seems to help, mind you. reminiscing. I just hope that death isn’t painful and is like falling asleep. I won’t die in my sleep, will I? ‘are you worried of the pain or the idea?’ neither, I just don’t want to go. Why does no one see That we could all die Why’s everyone so calm and their minds at peace Whilst mine is the one that’s stapled with ways to cease I just hope I won’t end up like the others who went into similar rooms to I and will do anything to not go back. Because I won’t, but I’m weak and not that strong minded to resist."

please, just make sure i don’t disappear when i sleep || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“I’ve been trying to write for a while now. Trying to put down words that don’t have a due date or that have to be rushed. But I’ve been struggling to find those words and the time to write them and the write frame of mind to write them in. You see, love’s got in the way of the cracked words I used to write. It’s fallen onto me and filled all the little crevices and shattered edges of my soul so it’s somewhat more complete - than before anyway. But I haven’t written in so long that writing down words that aren’t from academics or articles feels like treading water, as if all the stamina and all the understanding I had before has faded. I always thought it would be like riding a bike, that I’d be able to come back and it’d be just like before. But I’ve changed, and the words that I write have changed and my life has changed. Even though writing this felt like running without enough oxygen I feel lighter knowing that I’ve been able to formulate words that mean something, even if it’s only skimming the surface of the past.”

- lil welcome back or a goodbye to the past || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“When the darkness illuminates the light and the angel staggers from the gloom, it’s in that moment that I evade the fall into the facade of death, the floating away from consciousness and security, into the unknown nature of frantic endings. [But, what if I never wake?] The bleakness of static and the uncontrollability that us mere mortals possess means we’re just waiting, and hoping, and praying that our time won’t be now, or tomorrow or the week after next. But eventually half a heart will leave the other in the forgotten land, on the ageing earth, alone. Because when there’s something to finally live for, an eternity never really seems to be enough and perhaps that’s my biggest fear, that now I have absolutely everything to lose.”

- the death that looms in the shadows of happiness || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

I’ll whisper into your ear as the comets adorn the silent sky and their orange tails illuminate the darkness they leave behind. When the end of the world eventually comes to the present, and the fire takes over the land, I’ll follow you to wherever you escape; be it within the core of our planet or within the serenity of your head, I’ll go wherever you see fit. I’ll travel into space to escape the destruction that man’s left behind. I’ll follow you until the atmosphere fades and the light becomes all-consuming, I’ll follow you to the sun, where peace and warmth exist hand in hand. I’ll follow you to our one true catalyst, to the birth of life. I’ll follow you home, so that, at last, you don’t feel the need to release the dust the flows beneath your skin, I’ll follow you back between the stars that forged the greatness of your being.

- I’ll follow you to the sun || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“Autumn and sadness is perhaps the loneliest mix of all. Walking along with a writer in your mind you see the golds of the leaves and the candy floss of the clouds, how the richness of the air seems to melt into the earth. Tainting the growth in ways that couldn’t be imagined, the development of the colours turning from lively to ash-stricken and warm. And yet with that cloud fogging the light in you’re eyes you come to see that the leaves are just red and the sun is bleeding into the sky. You come to see that death isn’t such a beautiful thing but one to fear. That when the coldness creeps into your bones the light ending along with the warmth. The darkness takes its toll on the sane and lively, it kills the most innocent of men and yet, how is it seen as soft and gentle and quiet? But maybe that’s what death is. The nipping at your fingertips when the first signs of winter show, it’s the earie snow that absorbs the sound of exsistence, it’s the glorifying of something inevitable to make it seem a little more grand.”

- you come to realise that the leaves are just red. || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“Two years ago in June was when I first shed my skin. Peeling off the layers small piece by small piece until it was all off, the flakes surrounding my feet until the floor turned an ashy white. The old aged fire stricken skin fell, ebbing to the floor as it caught the draughts of the room, revealing the blushed pink renewal of a broken-being beneath.”

- the me before me || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“And within the serenity of happiness and the hopelessness of being, I look forward to the future, where the auras seem whiter and everything is blank from past mistakes. Whilst at peace with the present and my current orbit; I stop and look up to the ink-splashed sky and wonder how all my previous lives and orbits and time have traced up to this. How all the previous aches and pains and numbness has grown and faded into the calming and incandescent monotone of peace.”

- and I want to be happily fading || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“Even with you on the other side of the ocean between the waves and the blue and the depths of the sea there seems to be something within that keeps you close and nearer to me.

Even under the darkness of the night and beneath the speckled stars above, it’s comforting to know that a distance can never separate this kind of love.”

- even if we’re alone... || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“The night you left I remember the clouds were sheltering the moon. The craters hidden behind the canopy of grey, reflected the shadows of the dark that fell beneath the sky. Even when the moon was forged from the oblivion above, when it’s full and bright and glowing, the darkness still seemed duller, with the glow of the hidden sun shining onto the ground below. But maybe if you left earlier or later or never at all, maybe the moon would still be shining, maybe the light would be whiter and stronger and new. Perhaps the dark wouldn’t seem as heavy, as dense as it does now. Maybe if you hadn’t left, I wouldn’t suffocate in the nothingness of the night, I wouldn’t drown in the memories of the past, I’d still be able to breathe even throughout the setting of the sun.”

- if only I could re-write the end of us || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“The flames are what keep me warm. Even in the bluest of winters and the whitest of storms the flames reach from my ribs and warm my soul. Whilst my skin remains prickled with ice, my insides burn burgundy in anger leaving my fingertips to turn blue. And so I reach, into the depths of my being to cool the flames that soar between my bones, lighting me and igniting me in the ashy flames of blame and stubbornness from which set me alight. But still, with the ice of my hands, the fires rage on until there’s nothing of me left - the anger is the fuel that keeps the flames afire, even through the lightest and warmest of days, the fires burn through the diminish of forgiveness until all that’s left are the embers of charred beings that have become what they couldn’t control.”

- even the flames stay away from the darkness in my mind || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“My name is the song you sing as you close your eyes,

the lullaby that plays as you drift into unconsciousness,

sleepily falling into the abyss of uncertainty.

And yet,

There is something more

than the tune of the stars singing,

there’s the soft echo that

falls between the trees,

through the shadows and the darkness

the silence creeps.

And even with the dreams that caress your mind,

there seems to still be

a disturbance that lurks

beneath the conscious,

keeping the sane curious of the emptiness,

of the nothing,

that there must be something more.

All the ‘sweet dreams’

and

all the ‘sleep well’s’

cannot protect you

from the souls that

wallow through the night,

the fragile dream catchers

hung across your room cannot capture

the true nightmares that hunt in the dark,

neither can it catch the fear

and the screams

and the terror.

They’ll all live on.

The soft melodies of the piano in your mind cannot

make the monsters turn away,

they’ll fight

between the light in your mind

until they reach the hidden,

until they find the place in your mind

where all of your terrors live.

They’ll build their home

in the black of your mind

until

they ink your thoughts the same colour

as the night they came

and you’ll still believe the words they say

as if they came from the light of day.”

- my name will haunt you until there’s nothing of you left || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“The intertwining of our lives seems to be the only thing remaining constant, reminding us of our being, of our souls that we’re real entities affecting everything, interlacing with the world and staining it in our own colours. Yet the lines and the strings, somehow linking us all, still manage to tangle, and knot and fray. Even through the combing of our lives and the care we take, some ties are there to break, that even with the smallest of knots and with the tightest of grips, there’s always the other side of unknowns. But, there’s never one singular soul, everything is made up of one another, worlds bleeding into worlds, love blending into hearts and minds and eyes, words affecting thoughts and thoughts melting into words - we’re all somehow part of each other, nothing singular, a blur of humanity inspiring and altering to become individual beings.”

- even with single minds, we’re just sharing woven thoughts || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“And I wonder if when the life has left the earth, when her soul reclaims it’s land as her own once again, will the stars shine brighter? Will the earth spin faster knowing there’s nothing weighing her down? No sinners, no destruction, no hate, only the simple lives that live in unity within her beauty, that treasure and basque in her mythical wonder of existence. And yet there seems to be an end, a deadline to her being, and to all the other souls she feeds. But I wonder if the deadline of the end will be the end. Will everything be gone? Will life have ceased, become a fresh page for newer souls to paint on? Or will the ground end too? I wonder what happens at the deadline of the end, when the everything becomes nothing, when the life becomes death, when the wonder becomes sorrow. And yet there seems to be some hope remaining, pushing us to an Eden of optimism and clarity that contains the nature we gave up. But even with the Eden of hope and with the rejuvenation of life, there’ll be an end. I just wonder what will happen when time reaches the end?”

- we’re obliviously hurtling towards the end of the unfathomable || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“And as the light seems to become distant and faint, with the sun drooping behind the clouds, it’s beams hold up the day with the night closing in. It’s within the comfort of the evening chills that seems to hold a mellow hue within the sky; baby violets, powder pinks and dusty oranges melt into the clouds as the sun kisses the horizon, it’s goodbyes painting the pale sky, caressing the living’s eyes, making all the souls fall in love with the grandeur of life.”

- the colour of love || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“Even with bloodstained nails and patched-white knuckles, there still seems to be a delicacy in the way we hold things close; that even with calloused hands and the darker lines that run along my skin, there still manages to be softness in between the scarred. Even with the cuts that lay below my wrist where the skin folds and the bone buries beneath, it still maintains a tenderness. Not during, but after, when the skin turns white and the darkness fades does it seem softer, an apology from a healer from what it couldn’t stop, from what it couldn’t heal in my mind.”

- a healer’s hands can warm even the coldest of hearts but still scars will remain || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“Maybe the light would be softer, radiating soft honey streaks into the air; or maybe the sound would be calmer, smaller, as if the waves were lapping the shore and the breeze was blowing the leaves gently during autumn, calmly, softly falling to the ground. I wonder if the smells would be sweeter and more comforting, like muffled childhood and hope. I wonder if I’d have appreciated it more, longed to stay within the comfort of naivety, if I knew what was to come, if I knew about the dark clouds that lay behind the horizon and the rain that was trapped within, would I have stayed in the sun longer or would I have stayed indoors preparing for the worst, locking the windows and shutting the doors from what I didn’t know before.”

- If I could turn back time, would life have become more forgivingly sweet? || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)

[quietharmonystarfish]

“And when the sun rises and the birds begin to sing, I will sing my aubade, my lullaby to the sky and when the light touches the tip of the horizon and makes the clouds turn warm, there’s always the melody that falls upon the creeping light inviting it into the dawn. And when the light fades and melts into the dark, and the shadows begin to turn blue, we can still hum the suns tune even when it is replaced by the moon.”

- from dusk til dawn || _writingsnippets (via Instagram)