Empty hearts.

So I tried something new in which I had to write the poetry in exactly a hundred words. Do read it and leave anything you’d like to say in the comments. Instagram handle: @myspirals


“So, what does it feel like to be empty?”

“Everyone is made of poetries,
and to have that inside of you
but no voice or walls for it to echo,
it can be hard to describe,
if not impossible.

It feels like a sinking Titanic,
that is too cold to realize,
that its life is etching away.
It feels like a long stretch of silence,
that screams out stories
and unheard rants.
It feels like a mirage
that you’ve somehow reached,
and you live the illusion.

I don’t know, really.
It feels like a nothing in a something.
Numb. Empty.”


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Previous post: Addictions and lies.
Related post: Hope and caution. 

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Whisky Words: Project (9)

This is Submission NINE of The Whiskey Words. The Whiskey Words is a writing project (and a giveaway), and if you’d like to participate, here are the rules.


Illumine the stars

Hers
Is a restless soul in the black abyss of a beautiful world.
A world where heartbeats are numb in the crowds of screaming rivals
Her soul, a misfit for rhyme and reason
Because the pictures speak to it.
Her eyes search a different truth
Because the phrases mean nothing to them
Her mind seeks rational meaning
Because the sophistication means eternity to it.
Her soul longs an unknown silence.
So when the night sky kisses the sea,
She embarks upon a journey,
With the stars on her back.
One by one,
She illumines the stars,
makes her mark in the shape of a constellation,
a perpetual path,
leading to a shooting star.

– Himna Khan (blog)

Whisky Words: Project (2)

This is Submission TWO of The Whiskey Words. The Whiskey Words is a writing project (and a giveaway), and if you’d like to participate, here are the rules.


The Face of Evil

I have personally seen the face of Evil
Only once in my life.

Only once in my life has it
Been so bold as to show me its face.
Usually it works very hard to hide
To make sure people are so focused on their work
That they can’t see it.
But I have seen the face of evil.

I was seven.
I lay sprawled out at the bottom
Of a long flight of stairs
Where I had
“fallen.”

There was absolute silence
Absolute stillness

I’m not sure that either has been broken yet.

Finally I looked up at the boy
At the top of the stairs
And all I could see was the face of evil
Etched on the backs of the heads
Of my classmates walking away.

– Seiji Yamashita (blog)