february

to love & to be loved | a playlist

03:28


and in the end we were all just humans… drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.
- Christopher Poindexter 


To commemorate the last day of the month of lurrveee, here's a playlist. A little romance mixed with a little nostalgia and voila, this is what we get. A throwback that takes you back to what it first felt like to be young and in love. Sigh.
Enjoy. 

~~~


break ups

the wolf | spilled ink

17:37


photo: Ray Hennessy 2016


these bones are diseased;
like a ravaged dog,
setting its sights on its saving grace.

let me undo you;
unmake you with this sickness,
and confuse you with small granules of clarity.

teeth, like a daggers edge,
rip into the flesh of my precious muscle
i let you claim as yours, now & forever more.

my heart,
i say, my heart bleeds no more,

for you have licked the blood 
off my corpse and walked away to find your new muse et la proie.

these bones you left
bent and broken,
are no longer holding up the meat you so readily consumed in the climax of your hunger.

alas, i tell it true,
the wolf i loved,
with more vigour & passion than my soul could fathom,
has eaten me alive.


~~~

art

the little mermaid (WIP) | spilled ink

03:50


Un Horizonte de Sueños (Spanish Edition) by Diego Sandoval


The ground gleams and glistens, the black tar of the road a little more alive — and a little less dead. The alley is wide and open — a charming hub of a different kind of nightlife. There are no clubs, no rowdy drunks, no beefed-up bouncers to turn you away against your wishes. No, that kind of nightlife doesn’t exist in this quaint sanctuary — instead, the night becomes alive. It inhales and exhales as a brisk wind rustles the endless draped lanterns above the lane. It weeps and leaves its tears in the form of dark puddles on the sidewalk. 

I don’t flinch as the breeze raises bumps on my skin. But as stray rain drops meet my skin, I stiffen instinctively. Water in the human world is different to water in my world. To me it’s air; it was air. And now, I’m supposed to ignore it, to pretend as if only a year ago I didn’t breathe it like it was my air. 

Soft music plays from cafe’s and small, dimly lit restaurants. There is no sound more distinct than another — it all combines to make something delightfully relaxing. Quiet voices, inspired chatter, happy laughter, fills the alley. It’s soft background noise, while the sight of the alley at night is a dreamy watercolour. 

Dark greys, bright lemon yellows, muted oranges, clear blues, stormy blues, mellow browns. Like a Van Gogh painting; it’s surreal. Here I stand, lost and defeated, staring at my blurry reflection in a fresh puddle, and I don’t feel real. The distorted face that stares back with such distant eyes is completely unrecognisable. The long indigo locks that once framed its face no longer exist but instead, short, unevenly cropped hair that’s a ghost of what it used to be, takes its place.

It’s strange to think that dreams of beauty such as this alley was the reason I risked everything I cared about. And yet, I would take it all back in a heartbeat if I could just go home.

I’ve been stuck here for an endless year, in a world I knew so little about, in a place I felt so out of place. Before this past year, I called the ocean my home —  my sanctuary. And now this alleyway, lined with dingy apartments and small cafe’s and restaurants with tables and chairs that spill onto the roads, is my sanctuary.  



———————

Not really sure where I was going with this. I was inspired by the picture and I guess I wanted to see where the words would take me.
Hopefully, I'll come back and finish it someday…


~~~

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