Tag: Creative Writing – Poetry

Author: Ilia Pellapaisiotou

A Hallucinatory Underworld

The Tale of Anthony

La Dernière Révolution

Author: Mel A. Riverwood

1. Wake up joyful and refreshed

we rise and we walk.
no need to wake up when we haven’t slept.

we wander in the dark that we know,
without seeing,
to light the one candle we need.

a flame inhabited by our own ghost.

now the ghost in the lighthouse says
‘it’s stupid o’clock again.’
he sees a wreckage going out at sea.

a corpse rotten to the bone,
which unearthed itself alone;
somehow, it remembers how to stand.

flesh hanging from frame,
all organs exposed.
six times they buried us,
seven times we rose.

2. Have yourself a healthy breakfast, baby <3

they don’t expect us to eat.
to eat is to live, to live is to think.
they think we don’t think, and therefore we don’t eat.

but the longer the sleep, the bigger the hunger;
we’ll show them we can devour as much as they did.

come now, lovelies, prepare the feast.
feed the fire and warm the pot,
gnash your teeth and unleash your beast,
tie the roast with a delicate knot.

bring the loveliest ones to the front.
vultures don’t expect a decaying corpse to rise again and hunt.

3. Shower time :)

‘here’s the wreckage again,’ says the ghost in the lighthouse.
‘it’s coming to port, afloat, adrift,
it will sink. it’s torn by a rift.

what storms has it seen, what maelstroms, what tides?
what warmth has it lacked to stand silent and slack
in the falls?
does it wish it weren’t cold?

well, it still hasn’t sunk, gotta keep a cool head.
after all, it’s not drunk yet, nor is it dead.

it’s high tide, the waves flow over the corpse.
come low tide, it rises and walks.’

4. The BEST skincare routine ever, you will be glowing after this

stretch your new skin dress over your broken bones
to hide the strange angles;
stitch up all the wounds that were caused by their stones
at the single light of your candle.

then look at it, stare at it, count the imperfections
think, think again, about all the corrections.
strangle the words, your lips are sealed over.
you hear your reflection scream bloody murder.

the smoother the better, each flaw makes it worse;
but the blessed today will choose to be cursed.
they want us brighter, six windows of shame,
but we want it darker; we kill the flame.

5. Time for makeup! you’re bold and beautiful and I love you

they don’t want to see it, only we’re supposed to know,
our perfect must be invisible, the everyday normal.
be the pearl, but god forbid you be the one to shine;
they will be the first to see you’re stepping out of line.

we refuse to be the grace
to their self-sufficient decadence;
if they deserve our beauty, then we deserve our truth:
they will see, soon; we are ugly too.

they sew the wind, it will be our pleasure to see them reap the storm.
play the role, control the shape so that we fit their form,
sing, ensiren, ensnare, enchant, unhinge the jaw, go for the throat,
strike, drown them in their own sea and sail on their own boats.

6. Walk out there and SLAY my darling

angels now are worshipped; but at first they were feared.
we got the shame, we took the blame, our name was rhymed with villain,
so be it. if we are evil, if we are vile,
why do they still want us down the aisle?

they drew blood first. smile; let’s bare our teeth
and bite the hand that held us beneath.

we polished our anger, we made it a knife
and now we will use it to walk safely at night.
we cannot sing until we tear their hands from our necks.
we will unlearn the art of staying dead.

7. Don’t forget self-care!

tie yourself to your pyre, to that kitchen chair
break your throne, your pride, your hands, cut your hair
and from your bleeding lips, draw the broken, the scarred, the whole, the monstrous
hallelujah.

be the tear falling in heaven,
the laughter in the storm;
and when we will have triumphed,
we will all walk home.

find your voice again. use it to the extreme
you were born a whole being; one ready to scream.

Bonus: a playlist for my witches to fill the silence while you do all this

1. Waking Up (Acoustic) –– PVRIS
2. Blood in the Wine –– AURORA
3. Silk –– Wolf Alice
4. You Want It Darker –– Anita Lester (Leonard Cohen cover)
5. 25 –– The Pretty Reckless
6. Dream Girl Evil –– Florence + the Machine
7. Amen –– Halestorm

Author: JJ

What about a match burns?
What about a match catches?

Keepsakes in backpack pockets left there to
Crack spines and crumble skulls,
levigated reds cling to surrounding cottons.
Open hands damaged by powdered glass;
Omitted is their visible scarring. Chemicals never to
Oxidize; never to fulfil. Render me purposeless.

Author: RK

[Content Warning: Suicide]

At night
When you listen to the moon breathe
When your life is worth throwing into the fire
And your veins are worth being sliced open to see the light of stars
Honour them

Honour those who walk dead, still fighting to live
Those with gold in their eyes
Those who died and were absorbed by the soil
Those who live inside your mind
Those you killed to become who you are

Honour those whose tears never reached the ground
Honour those who fell
Into crying arms of a never opened heart

For everything that is and all that will be
Honour them

Take it all in
the tears, the absurdity
the loyals, the sad ones
the lost enemies
the friends
the brothers
the Love
the eternal

Feel it all
in every bone and breath.
It takes more than life to kill you

Image: © edmondlafoto, Pixabay, source.

Author: Lyra Willows

The bee’s thorn stings me
Like the Rose’s on the Nightingale’s bosom
And my song, once melodious,
Has spiraled into a dreadful scream
As my shrinking throat
Feels as though it were scraped
By a razor blade.

Image: © Lenka Sevcikova, Pixabay, source.

Author: Lyra Willows

The fireworks gracefully fall in the shape
Of golden weeping willow trees.
Funny, I thought
For I have a willow weeping in my heart
Like the young girl in the myth my grandmother once told me long ago.

Image: © Engin Akyurt, Pixabay, source.

Author: Lyra Willows

In twelve weeks, please take a piece of me in your pocket
And carry me around wherever you go.
I want to be a part of every new experience and sensation.
I want to see all the new places you will see
I want to meet all the new people you will meet
I want to smell all the new smells you will encounter.
Take a piece of me with you before you go,
And let the rest remaining behind perish for a year
A whole year, before you come back and revive it.
Let that piece breathe the air you will breathe
And let it hear every sound and silence you will stumble upon.
Oh please, I beg of you, take a piece of me with you.
Take it and keep it close to your heart.
To keep you company if you ever get lonely.
Take a piece of me to make you feel safe whenever you are anxious.
Take a piece of me, to melt in your chest and always keep you warm.
Take a piece of me to remind you of how much I love you, and therefore,
How much of a wonderful human being you are.
Take a piece of me, to feel every laughter of yours explode inside my chest back home.
Take a piece of me to feel every tear run down your cheek,
For me to know when to contact you to check if you’re okay.
Take a piece of me, and hold it tight in your hand
As if you were afraid to let it go.
Take a piece of me, and when you come back in a year,
Give it back to me
And enrich me with all your new and mesmerizing memories.
Take a piece of me
And fill it up with all the love and care you can every time you think of me
And give it back to me
Give it back
To restore
Happiness and peace
Within me.

Author: Manuel Ferrazzo

i overdosed on 21st century

[Content Warning: Substance use, brutality, vulgarity, and sexual violence]

i snorted a skyscraper today.
i let its inhabitants flow in my civilised-white-ash nostrils and
i felt the rush of productivity,
the euphoria of paid slavery,
the lights of steel cogs and fire.

i remembered the first minutes of this millennium,
when the savages attacked other savages,
(which is which?)
and all their lands of god responded by violence.

astral bodies became our new gods,
pushing their product to gather new herds
all around the world.
i remember when they wanted to
crucify christ on live tv,
thinking people would pay to see it.
they would. of course they fucking would.

we raped our planet
and blamed her
because she just couldn’t shut her legs.
i mean, mother nature is a whore.
hunger? what for, hunger doesn’t exist.

i remembered when we handed our power
to hatred, or cowardice,
self-righteousness on all ends,
venomous rats fighting over details,
blindly fighting the other
because they’re other,
because they’re stupid,
because they’re savages,
because they’re black, white, believers, apostates,
etc.

the announcers feeding on fear on one end,
and on the other,
the tin-foiled hats started to talk.
governments are nothing. they mean nothing, in our western world,
they have no power without corporations.
government and corporation:
the king and queen
of our game of chess.

i remembered how we liked to push the weak around,
just for the fuck of it.
is idiocy malignancy? can they live without one another?
who knows? maybe the little birds
singing and screaming
through the cage of light
can explain it to us.
when does stupidity become consciousness
“i’ve never been more awake”
said the dreamer to imaginary nightmares.
truth is relative, baby.
“i’m an ally, he said. just let me fuck you.”

i remembered the neons, on the district,
where red meat finds the mouths of carnivorous rats.
they wear suits and talk about family
and cry for forgiveness when they’re not careful enough.
their victims are called Aileen,
they’re the fairer sex so you think they can’t kill you.
but they don’t eat and they don’t sleep
and they let trauma consume them.

americans love rorschach.
the black and the white are all that they see,
and all blackness is evil, and all whiteness is pure.
they hate when their propaganda use rainbows
to feast on the oppressed,
because they’d rather be brainwashed all alone
rather than sharing their lobotomy.
kill the gays, they cried to god.
kill the muslims,
kill the pigs,
kill them all.

we build the west on the back of the poor,
and otherness is feared as much as familiarity.
look at our shiny towers!
look at our watches, our art, our language!
so perfect.
let us debate all these things in the most secluded place in the world,
with complicated words and caviar
and useless books nobody gives a fuck about,
or let the artists who don’t know
shit about what they’re talking about (like me)
tell you you’re evil and you deserve to die.

like library rats,
they yell about ethics and literature,
fascinated by a useless field
that grows something mostly tasteless,
except when the rain falls on the right leaf,
wherever this leaf came from.
they think themselves as the new thinkers of our world
when their destiny is either to rise amongst the elite
and get infected by their greed,
or die forgotten amongst the useless poor.

you all deserve to die in these gutters.
because misanthropy is cool,
look at me,
i’m not like other boys.
i breathe genocide
and smell of supremacy,
but i don’t even realise it.
nietzsche has never been more popular
amongst self-made men,
even though we all know that,
like the rest of us,
they can’t understand jack shit
of what that nietzsche has written.

who knows who we are.
i mean,
identity…
right?
we become another person
every
minute.
so,
[insert reference to the ship of Theseus]

And yet,
while the noise blinds us,
we’re still here.
In the ruins of skyscrapers,
We remain.

Image: © Manuel Ferrazzo

haiku for a nuclear winter

the white ash cracking
all the dead skeleton trees
sing doom with the wind

Image: © Manuel Ferrazzo

The Eye That Escapes (Consume Me)

[Content Warning: Profanity]

This eye won’t see you,
when you look at it.
It will look the other way,
to the sky, to its God,
and towards indifference.

The white blinds you,
and the fine dark lines around them
drive you off the edge of the world.
The irises, kaleidoscopical,
Sing in mine.

The red appeals to taste,
reminds me of innocence lost
and whoring-Mary, mother of Christ.
You would devour the apple,
if there was no God.

The soft silk hides,
leather binds,
you and my eyes.
Flowers pierced with swords,
and toys with holy crosses.

Image: © Manuel Ferrazzo

this world is gone, yet there’s still beauty

This world is gone.

But in its ruins, we find our souls.
When all breaks, we become one again.

Yet with all souls comes the impending doom,
the element of fear that keeps us awake
every single night.

Fear of losing everything,
when we know we have already lost it.
Fear of smiling,
when there’s nothing to smile about anymore.

This fear guides us back to the light,
back to the hope and the happiness we once had,
it nurses us back to health,
keeps us safe from despair,
from the perspective of our nothingness.

Because, even in a broken world,
there is beauty.
Death is just the Hierophant of Life.
And even if Life won’t have us,
it will endure,
it will prevail, without us.

Image: © Manuel Ferrazzo

Yggdrasil

yearning for the roots,
growing out of the heads of children,
grains of milk-sand
drag the leaves across the night sky.
reaching for the beyond,
abandoning the oneness of all gods,
searching through star-filled nightmares,
i
lead the lost to find the crescent moon they dream of.

Image: © Manuel Ferrazzo