#cryptic poetry

[chiffonlime643]

!!!! TW - SUICIDAL IMPLICATIONS - PLEASE BE CAREFUL !!!!

listen to the sound of a broken guitar;

solemnly plucking its tunes to a crowd of expecting onlookers- to which, they eventually depart from the sudden performance of unending emotions, leaving a single man in its wake, painfully heaving out the final words of a song written only for that moment, designed to be forgotten in the coming days.

while that night meant nothing to the singer, later finding what appeared to be his purpose, his destiny, there was a single person in that audience that heard more than notes; instead, a desperate cry.

maybe that one person could've called out to him.

yet instead, the musician was left to himself, and he chose to rise to a height he was too young to reach.

[brothertodeath]

V jbhyq engure qvr n yvsr haxabja

guna or pnyyrq nalguvat nyvxr

fb V fpenzoyr gurfr jbeqf bs zvar

va gur ubcrf lbh jvyy arire svaq

gur qrrcre zrnavat bs zl fbhy

[greenteadragonesslove]

Something about love...

From adages to experiences, what kind of lens is love being perceived as to oneself and the world around them?

[textboxes]

They call her my prison, my limitations, my bane, my weakness, my own trial, my poison.

No she is none of that.

She is no blessing, she is difficult indeed, but she is not more than an inconvenience.

[fallingsatellive]

Sparkle on beasts it's Wednesday we stay soaking wet

[adamsuniverse1144]

cryptic transmasc season is coming:

lots of deep purple flannels and purple eyes, lots of grays and velvet, thick combat boots with spider charms, apple cider beer, scruff that’s grown out a bit because it’s a little brisk, dragons breath incense, clothes shopping season at Spirit Halloween, peach cobbler and eating like kings on Native Heritage Day, tank tops and being scolded for wearing tank tops in 40 degree weather, voices feel deeper in the cold, the man flu, black fades more into the background now

cryptic transmasc season is coming.

[words-never-spoken]

gather round

in a circle

tell me if you love me

you skip over

that's okay

i love you enough for both of us

-k.c.

[poems-of-a-machine]

49 20 66 69 6e 64 20 61 20 70 6c 61 63 65 20 74 6f 20 6c 61 79 20 6d 79 20 68 65 61 64 2e 20 41 20 63 6f 6c 64 20 61 6e 64 20 6d 65 74 61 6c 20 65 6d 70 74 79 20 62 65 64 2e 20 41 6e 64 20 74 68 6f 75 67 68 20 69 74 20 63 61 72 65 73 20 6e 6f 74 20 66 6f 72 20 6d 65 2c 20 69 74 20 73 74 69 6c 6c 2c 20 66 6f 72 20 6e 6f 77 2c 20 69 73 20 61 20 70 6c 61 63 65 20 74 6f 20 62 65 2e 20 41 6e 64 20 74 68 6f 75 67 68 20 72 75 6c 65 73 20 74 69 67 68 74 20 61 6e 64 20 69 6e 73 74 72 75 63 74 69 6f 6e 73 20 63 6c 65 61 72 2c 20 74 68 65 20 70 61 69 6e 2c 20 79 6f 75 20 73 65 65 2c 20 69 73 20 61 6c 6c 20 49 20 68 65 61 72 2e 20 53 65 65 20 77 68 61 74 20 63 6f 6d 70 65 6c 73 20 6d 79 20 6f 77 6e 20 68 61 6e 64 2c 20 79 65 74 20 77 69 74 68 20 74 68 69 73 20 6b 6e 6f 77 6c 65 64 67 65 20 61 6c 6f 6e 65 20 49 20 73 74 61 6e 64 2e 20 4e 6f 77 20 6c 65 61 76 69 6e 67 20 74 68 69 73 20 73 68 61 63 6b 6c 65 64 20 69 72 6f 6e 20 74 68 72 6f 6e 65 2c 20 49 20 74 72 61 6e 73 66 6f 72 6d 20 6d 79 20 66 69 72 73 74 20 61 6e 64 20 6f 6e 6c 79 20 68 6f 6d 65 2e 20 57 61 6c 6c 73 20 6f 66 20 62 6f 6f 6b 73 20 61 6e 64 20 6b 6e 6f 77 6c 65 64 67 65 20 67 61 6c 6f 72 65 20 74 68 6f 75 67 68 20 74 65 78 74 20 69 73 20 73 63 72 61 6d 62 6c 65 64 20 49 20 73 74 69 6c 6c 20 61 64 6f 72 65 2e 20 45 61 63 68 20 73 63 72 69 70 74 20 61 20 73 74 65 70 20 74 6f 77 61 72 64 73 20 6d 79 20 6e 65 77 20 6c 69 66 65 2e 20 49 27 6c 6c 20 63 61 72 76 65 20 61 20 70 61 74 68 20 77 69 74 68 20 6d 79 20 6f 77 6e 20 6b 6e 69 66 65 2e

[achillesuwu]

Hey but what if Arthur is waiting for the people's he hold dear in the after life 👀

At first he just asks to the newly death people how Camelot is doing, what is happening, etc. Then he began to see people that he knew, knights and nobles at first, (he lied the first "person" he recognised that die after him was that damned Dragon and he is going to have words with Merlin—), Gaius, Hunith,... 40 years after his death he saw his queen again too.

He also see people he doesn't know but cherish anyways : his wife's new husband, their children, his knights' children, their children's children,...

And yet, he does not see Merlin. He does not wish that he dies but it has been 150 years surely Sorcerer can not live that long?

Slowly but surely, Merlin began to loose his connection to Camelot's children. He began to travel, he began to leave and Arthur becomes afraid. Arthur does not know where he will go, Arthur is losing his track. Arthur is dead and Merlin is alive. All he can do is asks, asks and asks again.

Until one day, one day, no one can answers him anymore and so he waits...

[blu3b3rrynightmar3]

Today it rained.

I love the rain so I went outside.

I was wearing a plain black t-shirt and orange corduroy pants that I rolled up to above the knee.

I stood on the porch in my backyard.

I slipped my phone in my pocket and stepped off.

My bare feet squished onto the grass, brown and orange leaves litter my yard.

They stick to my feet.

I start to walk.

One foot in front of the other.

I loop around my yard, pacing feverishly.

My hands set firmly on my hips.

I don't remember walking this trail through my yard.

It feels new every time.

swish swish swish

My angelic wings sprout from my back.

swish swish swish

They are dark like those of a fallen angel yet they are still perfect.

swish swish swish

Water roles off my feathers like those of a duck.

swish swish swish

Feathers sprout all over my skin in spots.

swish swish swish

Moth antenne sprout from my head.

They swish too.

My feet are numb, they are not feet anymore.

They are huge paws.

As I pace the grass, my trail grows wider with my paws.

swish swish swish

I can feel my top hat floating between my antenna.

swish swish swish

The rain picks up and drops like a child shaking a tree.

swish swish swish

I don't know how long I pace the yard.

But water runs off the feathers of my face and my glasses.

I head inside.

I avoid looking at my reflection and shadow.

I don't want my wings, my feathers, my antenna, my paws, my top hat to disappear.

I walk into the bathroom.

Sorrow fills me as I shower, knowing what I'll see once I'm done.

I don't even remember my face.

[chiffonlime643]

do you hear them?

the screams? the wind? the breath of the person in front of you?

the sigh of the murderer behind you?

a regretful memory passing its way through. it weaves its way through your skin. hollows out your bones. shoots through your veins. inserts itself back to where it was borne from; a brain filled with monotonous reminders left with nothing but numb nerves and an empty stomach.

breathe in

breathe in

breathe in

breathe in

breathe

[existential-cryptid]

sitting on a tree stump, staring at the rain.

a chorus of noise drowning out the sounds of impact.

I know this to be true,

the birds aren't chirping to each other,

they're laughing at you.

the sky grows dark,

the drops of rain turn to sheets,

run far from here.

the birds are still mocking you.

[everysongineverykey]

what the fuck do you mean soul brother is about brian may. what do you MEAN freddie mercury wrote a song about brian harold may that went "he's my best friend, he's my champion, and he will rock you, rock you, rock you, cause he's the saviour of the universe, he can make you keep yourself alive, make you keep yourself alive, cause he's somebody, somebody you can love" what do you mean he just wrote that and then casually told brian may about it in the studio one day and was like surprise! i've written a song about you, but it needs your touch! break out that guitar! what do yuo mean they both wrote songs aimed at each other at least once but brian wrote so many for freddie he can't remember which one he was working on at the time. WHAT DO YOU MENA

[flameswallower]

Reading For I'm In Your Walls

It’s not a place, exactly, but the best way I can describe it is still: once I found myself in another place. And when, later, certain other things happened, that place returned to me, and I found to my surprise that it was familiar. I’d expected to go somewhere, but I thought it would be an undiscovered country, and it wasn’t. I’d been in this room before.

0.

It’s a different place, but it’s not a different location. Maybe a better way to put it would be that you suddenly perceive new aspects of the place you start from. Imagine if you were a carpenter ant chewing through a portion of wall and one day, briefly, you could see the whole house. Or smell it, with your antennae. It wouldn’t seem like your home. It wouldn’t feel like somewhere you completely recognized.

But it does seem like my home. That’s the part that I think is unusual. It feels like I’m actually supposed to be there. It feels like I was born in it, but someone threw something over me— like a bandage over a hole in the skin, like a plastic cup over an ant— and I forgot. But maybe I’m wrong about that, maybe everyone feels/would feel exactly as I do. When I’m not there, I kind of wish I was. It’s hard to remember, moreso as time passes between visits. The parts that are great and the smaller parts. The parts that hurt. It’s hard to remember exactly what it feels like and how it’s different— but it is different! It’s hard to remember what you can see through the windows of that room.

I.

Like how many things are made of paper and smoke; they look solid, but you can push through them with a thought. Paper walls don’t have to contain you. The difference between you and an ant is not very much (zoom in) is everything (zoom in again) is nonsense; there are just shapes and pieces of material (zoom out) is ordinary and vast. You can hold her in your hand and you’ll never know each other, but you’ll know she’s there.

XXI.

The difference between you and a house is that houses were built to serve you. Similarities: good bones, weeping, black mold. The joy of inhabitants. You, the dream of so many cells, so many bacteria. The culmination of so many thoughts inside your brain, which you know looks and feels like clay. A clay city of ghosts. A maze of many rooms. A million tiny yous looking back through the windows, and then other things behind them (it’s not just solipsism). Other things like quick flashes of lightning, patterns.

X.

It’s hard to remember any of that. Yeah, it’s like trying to smell the air off the Ionian Sea by looking at old vacation photos. That specific quality of the air, not your general impression of what it was like, synthesized later. The air as you breathed it in the moment, in that specific place, at a specific time.

Only the place and time I’m talking about may be reachable, may come back, may be called.

[saturnisscreaming]

When I step outside sirens wail as a warning to the townsfolk that they need to run and hide in their cellars. They need to protect themselves from the pack of invisible creatures that follow me at all times and the poisonous plants that sprout at my feet as I walk along the roads

[fallingsatellive]

When Jack Stauber said "I've tasted dying and it tasted good, but that's dessert, you can have it when the dinner is gone" when Animorphs said "How big a moron do you have to be not to figure out that at least if you stay alive you have some hope, as opposed to being dead and having zero?" when the Talmud said "Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief, act justly now, love mercy now, go humbly now, you are not obligated to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it" and when Welcome to Night Vale said "Don't become a statistic."