Modern psychology has succeeded in understanding the philosophy of human cognition but only at the cost of diagnosing what was unraveled by the روح. Psychology itself is an extension of the soul, an entity from a Divine realm beyond our comprehension. The human soul holds every human emotion felt by our body simultaneously and fuels a response beyond our consciousness; the soul connects us to the unknown. It distinguishes the living from the diseased. The soul retains what the consciousness denies.

The human consciousness operates on logic, on impulse; a response curated according to the immediate course of action. The روح on the other hand acts on understanding and acceptance of what the human flesh and body has forgotten. One could say the soul keeps us immortal. A traveller between realms between worlds; thoughts and beliefs constantly. Restless constantly suspended in a state of Divine عشق 

Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi’s understanding of the soul is that it is an entity we possess that endures a constant state of holy longing. Love is the bridge which dissolves such illusions in relation to the soul. The soul remembers The divine, the creator, the protector. And more so the soul remembers the creation of the creator.

Psychology believes that the soul is laced with the human cognition that they are parallel forces in the Human body. Rather the روح  possesses the reaction of an action. The consciousness cannot exist without the روح

In order for us to understand the architectural depth of a human being you must understand the working of one’s soul. It does not work on cognition or logic rather it is consumed by love, longing and emotion.Psychology attempts to dissect the human cognition forgetting it is the mere extension of the soul.

Oh The creation of my creator! You are my روح you are the ultimate course of action, you are the destination my soul is constantly moving towards. You are not merely the breath but you are what ties me to immortality, you are unconditional and everlasting even long after you are gone.

 So when I say I hold you within what I really mean is I hold you beyond death, beyond distance, beyond silence. Long before I had known myself I had known you. You define me in subtle ways, I recognise myself in you. You have been in me longer than I have been in myself. You are the creation of my Lord I am in constant longing for. You are proof that my Lord has created beauty beyond my human comprehension. Just as the waves reveal the depths of the ocean, my روح reveals the depth of my love.

 So when I call you my روح I mean you keep me alive, you are my breath even after death. Before time came into being and after it no longer will be, you will be remembered in my soul.

I bring you beyond this realm within me. When my body of clay returns to dust surrendering everything, it will yield my روح and you within it; to the Divine.

I’m not quite sure how to write anymore.

Thank you for reading :)

Life is nothing short of an exposition.

Did you hear, my love? The sun has died today.

And yet, its rays still embrace my skin

for I carry the sun within my heart.

Its warmth ignites my soul,

even as it slowly achingly incinerates

Warmth does not propel one forward;

it fossilizes, holding us in place

suspended, so we may remain blessed by its touch.

Daggers shaped as memories,

memories shaped as light.

Tell me, my love what binds us now?

Is it the warmth that scorches our souls,

or the lingering heated intensity of what once was?

Did I lose you when the sun died, my dear?

Or must I now search for you in the moon?

At least now there is clarity in where we stand.

Like the rays, we are certain to belong

but never to remain.

This clarity offers no solace;

it merely illuminates the very truth

hidden behind its own darkness.

Sunshine girl waits for the moon,

to finally live again,

How foolish she does not know

the moon mirrors the grief she carries

and nothing else

She’s no longer radiant,

Warmth no longer embraces her,

but the daggers keep her alive as she waits

Waits for what might never return.

This is the day I strongly believed I wouldn’t have survived, in retrospect. Thank you for reading :)

But then I fell in love and there is no greater violence than a love falling apart is there?

I barely knew my heart was beating before you.

Everyday I felt my heart strings get pulled and I took that as a blessing but now I am a gun pointed at myself you fondle the trigger ever so gently with your absence. How you come in quiet shadows, without your footsteps making a sound oh how desperately I wish they did. Your absence is the only presence of yours I carry. Days pass me by and each passing day makes me falter. I have known violence but now I feel it deep in the red blood I carry in my veins.

I’m not yet sure who to be mad at. The world for taking you away from me or myself for never letting you depart from my soul. Or you? For you are gone with my breathing pulse, which grows quieter the further you walk away from me. But the truth is I don’t know how to be mad at you, even in my madness there’s love, love without a boundary; a love that knows no ends.

I’m on my knees and I’m weak but I will not beg, I will not plead for I know I’ve tried I wish that thought alone led me to contentment but it does not. Nothing will bring you back to me except your will, I will only quietly wear this violence on my heart. I hope it is not an inconvenience to you.

I so desperately wish to forget, my agonising longing, my soul with you in it.

We are never together and never apart. You are always here and never gone. I still feel you in my heart. My mouth is filled with blood and the barrel is tainted in what remains after you.

Pull the trigger this is the last time I will plead before you, for my sake take my soul for I can’t forget the one in it, in every breath, in every pulse.

Death will be kinder than the world that prefers us apart, evidently so.

My soul has thinned but my blood thickens in your absence.

I pray when I look death in the eyes I find a glimpse of you in it, I will embrace it with any humanity I have left.

I want you violently. I need you desperately. Do you feel my pain? Can you hear it? Will someone please listen to me?

thank you for reading :)

AMBITION

[am-bih-shon] noun

relentless pursuit of exceptional goals driven by determination, aspiration, and the hunger for achievement

The lust for glory fuels ambition. It is driven by a raging madness; a sadism only deciphered through experience. Humanity’s desperation lingers in every essence. It is not calm, it gains momentum in shock waves ready to ridicule you. With every depth, every fall, every humiliation. Its sincerity unravels and reveals itself with rather greater intensity in due course.

relentless ambition is more so a compulsion rather than an exemption to the ambitious,Insatiable power: a hunger that feeds on the soul before it moves on to the flesh until it feeds on both simultaneously. The one is pursuit of greatness honors one’s own pain for it is proof of determination, starvation, an impeccable indication of the need to drive yourself further towards the cause of harm for glory.

“I have a purpose. If you think that’s some kind of blessing, it’s not. It puts me at a huge life disadvantage. It means I have an obligation to see a very specific thing through. And with obligation comes sacrifice.” – Marty Supreme

For the ambitious they must not just endure pain but strive for it. Every humiliation is proof that they are worthy of humiliation, every sacrifice is another reason to sacrifice more of yourself for what you strive for. To hit the pavement and be grateful to have knelt before what consumes you. To worship the craft to plead before it so it may alas show you mercy.

When hope is virtue and pain is the drive, the ambitious becomes a devotee of one’s craft. And so the hunger to be great bites the hand that feeds it eventually it has nothing more left to devour so then it consumes the self. A starvation that is considered holy to the starved. But starvation is not holy, it is disruptive, it settles in you and turns your stomach sick. A starvation that can never be put out the more you feed the more it demands more of you. Gradually starvation becomes determination and determination becomes cruelty and cruelty results in corruption and soon self-deprecation and you find yourself erasing what you never were to begin with.

I too want to burn for glory. I am intrigued to know the intensity of this fire. I want to surrender, to be lifted off the ground, to touch hunger; be infinite, invincible. To descend into rage, spiral into madness and desperation, for it is man’s most valuable asset. I desire for my iron to rust and corrode the axis of my being, beyond repair.

If I must die at all it is important to me that I die with purpose, with meaning. I wish to die with my pride in my hands. In a state of stilled devotion. I ache to flounder and fall, desperately, humanly and then rise! rise! rise! for vanity’s sake.

This is my truth.

Friedrich Nietzsche’s philosophy of “will to power” is a concept based on his core belief that humans possess a driving force that moves them forward. This force was never given depth or comprehension. Nietzsche believed that without will to power humans would lack purpose or the will to exist in general. Nietzsche believes there is a force needed to keep us alive, to wake up, to want to choose life. The force remains a mystery to this day but as time unfolds self- determination seems to be the only force keeping us going.

According to Nietzsche philosophy of will to power ambition is noble. Ambition is the force driving us forward in this life. It is transformation. Ambition is the hunger that serves purpose. It takes because it gives even more. Will to power conveys that relentless drive for success demands sacrifice, and that sacrifice serves to be a lesson of values; Humbleness, Patience, Gratitude and most importantly loss. Through discipline only can we attain the glory we plead for, only when the drive serves to be the purpose of moving forward and does not become one’s will to live.

“I consider life itself an instinct for growth, for continuance, for accumulation of forces, for power: where the will to power is lacking there is decline.” —Friedrich Nietzsche.

Rage is a strong human asset; it can either bring us further towards our goals or further away from it. Rage dictates whether this drive of ambition is noble or neurotic.

"Anger is a potent spice. A pinch wakes you up, too much dulls your senses." —Queens Gambit

According to Sigmund Freud ambition is not noble; it is in fact, neurotic. It does not result in transformation but in self-deprecation. Freud believes that starvation does not give you the power to fight rather it makes you falter, weaker beyond comprehension. It does not serve to be a purpose instead it takes all purpose away from you. It strips you of your dignity and replaces it with the uncertainty of ever gaining it back, and so we chase. It is worship without limits. It is madness in its truest form.

"The goal of all life is death." —Sigmund Freud.

Freud states that it is not brave but foolish to declare war with oneself only to experience loss; to lose more than what you started with. It is absurd to willingly walk into famine due to a hunger that blinds you.

“It is foolish to run the risk of going mad for vanity's sake." — Queens Gambit.

So is ambition a result of transformation or Self-deprecation? We are left to wonder whether on the other side of glory there is anything at all except the ruthless journey in honor of it?

To Nitzsche it is a quiet forge to self, an extension. A chance at life. A driving force for humans that is freeing rather than captivating. Chasing what you fear not gaining, makes you invincible because you are ready to lose everything in honour of it. But to Freud it is compulsion, a starvation that results in a famine.

Perhaps, both truths exist simultaneously.

It is both creation and compensation, both drive and obstacle. Maybe in an attempt to heal the wound I am deepening it; both a disease and a cure for humanity.

What humanity fears is not loss but the resolution of this burning rage having no meaning of its own. Resentment is alas the resolution at both ends. A poison to be picked; the emptiness of non-fulfillment or the hollowness of achievement.

“There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart’s desire: the other is to get it.”

https://open.substack.com/pub/blankcanvaspost/p/in-pursuit-of-greatness?r=5bqykb&utm_medium=ios

My love for writing will always bring me back to it. Thank you for reading :)

The anatomy of beauty is held together by two separate halves: terror and reverence. A fine line separates this symmetry; the force that propels beauty between these states of expression is transcendence. Power remains the reckoning on both sides of beauty’s completed anatomy.

“Death is the mother of beauty... And what is beauty? Terror.”

It is held together by the horrors of envisioning the work poured into its build- up. Dread and dismay entwined with desire, and so beauty demands a response that resists even as it submits; a complete submission of the self.

When you achieve transcendence, you have gone beyond ordinary limitations. You look into oblivion and confront it with illusion. In this state our soul barely contains itself amidst our chest. The seductiveness of beauty lies in this symmetry. When we confront beauty with terror we choose to accept the perfectly curated flaws within its imperfections, we hold the revelation of beauty in our eyes in the most delicate part of ourselves.

We accept the depth of its destruction, the ability to destroy or be destroyed, we admit our weakness before its strength. It holds a capability of deeming power, of demanding praise. Beneath its intricate interpretation it glares with almost condescending eyes revealing its superiority to its admirer; it asks of us, recognition beyond all limitations. Beauty itself remains intimidated by its potential, concealing the truth it holds by sending the admirer into a state of transcendence, a state beyond all states where adjoining becomes compulsory. What brings forth this truth is terror.

“For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure, and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us”

Beauty and terror stem from the same root in the body of a woman. Equal reaction of an action; It is interchangeable,limitless, illusioning. To a woman it is both glory and devastation, she bears the consequences, her worth is decided once the wage of such beauty is compensated.

A woman sets foot out in the land and eyes demanding superiority glare as if they are worthy of such praise. So they say beauty lies in the eye of a beholder so tell me why can’t they see the terror I carry in my fractures? My ache is made out to be amusing; beauty is put on display to be dissected. Every flaw has consequences, every fracture like the strokes of a paint brush holds a story of its own but these superior eyes are selective and they aren’t worthy of the superiority they demand.

So they say art is beautiful; art is scrutinised, and so they call me beautiful. They ask of me to honour the world with every individual fragment of my own, until I am not mine to own; a soul with no belonging. With no sign of liberation, for as long as I carry myself as a woman I will always know terror in my blood.

“A particularly beautiful woman is a source of terror. As a rule, a beautiful woman is a terrible disappointment”

Chantilly lace. Delicate as memory, I hold dear to me what does not remain. In the map of beauty they say flaw is sin and every sin demands surrender. Beneath this lace I am undone, in ruin. I do not remain.

A woman’s wrath carries the wrath of a thousand women. I hold my ancestors’ terror with the hope to transform it into reverence.

I am not mine? I am dissected from a distance stripped of my dignity, of my humanity; alas do they not consider me human? What more must I give away of myself to be seen as one? What fragment of myself must I sacrifice next?

It feels as if God only created man, women seem to embody the intricateness of nature; fading in the background of a world so un just.

Being a woman means to carry the sorrow of hopelessly hoping, a woman dies to survive. She is taught of liability before liberty. Beauty and terror reside inside a woman and gnaw at each other for parity.

there might be witnesses of the humiliation tied to my name, despite it I am not spared my tragedy; I am only drawn closer to it.

Therefore I no longer ask of beauty, I no longer demand admiration.

“Whatever we call beautiful… we quiver before it.”

I have been meaning to write about this for quite some time but never had the words, it’s finally here. Thank you for reading :)

There’s a heaviness in the air we all breathe, a tensed silence beneath the chaos of filtered conversations and unspoken secrets. A dollhouse of plastic—inauthentic and fragile, held together by delicate pieces, infrastructure ready to collapse. Seeking refuge in between tongues, desperate to be the center of discussion. To be heard, to be known, to be seen; the desperation louder than any voice that lingers in the landscape.

Stoicism lay before us like an open wound, a proof of our bond. Might be the only one ever. You taught me to carry this pain, and so I carry it as an heirloom, picturing some of you, still with me. I can alter myself down to the limb, but my make-up is structured in corruption. The roots run deep, Mother. You bore the seed, and we all carry the same roots, the same faith of the poison tree.

“If a mother was Sacrifice personified, then a daughter was Guilt, with no possibility of redress”

What an example to all uncultured and less expressive families we are. What a pathetic cry for help it is to find flaws within your own bloodline and still choose to stay and preach nothing but nonsense.

The cycle is a loop, and the loop is flawed.

I will break the cycle.

Will you finally be proud of me, Mother? Or shall I believe it to be another great topic of discussion at the dinner table? Like my existence was a mere distraction, a play set forth.

There is a mutual understanding between us. The dining table is designed to perfectly hold our quarrels, to reshape misunderstandings into grudges, and opinions into insults. Yet, we still eat from the same plate; we chew in the same rhythm, with our eyes interlocked but hearts laced in the same pain shared among us trapped by blood, so close in proximity but emotionally far off the deep end.

After all, you taught me how to eat, Mother. You taught me how to love, but mostly you taught me how to be indifferent. How to perform in public and guard my feelings, even in private. How to build walls in the face of my loved ones and still pretend they are doors.

You taught me that betrayal is human nature. I never knew you’d be the first one to teach me that. You taught me how to carry the weight of your disliking, because hate is too harsh to be uttered amongst family. It was spelled out in subtle ways, in gestures of our everyday life. It’s been fused in the air we breathe, and it’s mirrored our present reality perfectly.

If we must suffer, we must suffer together. The contract was signed at my birth, and your fingerprints have stained the pages. But it is not ink; it’s blood, Mother. It’s a red ocean embarking on our journey to safety.

“My mother didn’t foresee what was going to become of us as a result of witnessing her despair.”

You said blood runs thicker than water, and so I believed it. I let it run, but now the blood clogs my veins, and it’s getting hard to breathe; my very own blood started to terrify me. I finally realize the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

I tried to escape myself, only to find out every step leads closer to you. How do I save myself and save you, from you, Mother?

“I was born with my mother’s eyes. I loved those eyes until I remembered the anger in them, in me.”

I can no longer fathom your arrogance and your flaws, but who is to say I am the perfect daughter to you? Who is to say I am not as lonely as you are, Mother?

The ship is sinking. You’re holding your breath, and I’m holding mine, and we’re drowning. Hands held, because you never taught me how to hold another. Eyes closed, because you refused to see the world with all its lights and succumbed to a dull universe where right and wrong rest side by side, distinctively. Where error never takes place. Where light never shines at the end of the tunnel, and hopelessness becomes virtue.

“Or was it my mother’s rage? Or her mother’s? Or hers? An inherited creature.”

I plead to you, our cries do not echo through the water, mother. They reflect, and what sits before you at this mirror table is me. A version of me you live through vicariously.

But how can I blame you? After all, we share the same faith. I recognize the scared little girl in you who gave up on her dreams, as if the only way to continue the lineage was to silence the heart. I assure you, Mother, the heart you gave me is beating enough for both of us. Despite your efforts, it is deafening, and I will build a home in it. A sense of belonging it ached for.

You gave birth to your sorrow; therefore, you cannot look at me. You cannot unweave the pain in my eyes; I carry it the way I carry your blood, embedded in me. I cannot separate it from myself, so I let it identify me. Only a mad woman can carry a mad woman’s faith.

“Mothers are humans. Who sometimes give birth to their pain. Instead of children.”

You gave birth to your failure, hoping more experience could transform us, but I am, alas, a view of yourself in the mirror. Acceptance can not be shared until it is believed within, so I pleaded before you: let us float before the water that drowns us; let this shared pain reach acceptance, for it deserves a better destiny than a war passed on.

A daughter is not a sacrifice. A daughter is not a vessel for your hopeless dreams. She is not a rekindling of your life or a wound. I believe a daughter is a star in the starry night sky, who is only luminous if you share your light, if you let the star beam, for that is a star’s only wish.

I refuse to pass on this heirloom: this blood that reeks of indifference and hatred dressed in emotional resonance. This cycle will be broken despite your disappointment, even when it’s all I have ever known.

I accepted it the first time in that hospital room. The subtle stares and the quiet gestures that carried more contempt than words ever could will fade with the walls where innocent laughter once lived. Whatever truth remained was never in our closeness, for the truth only lay in the mourning anyway.

And now, Mother, the water rises again. We sink as we always have, two beings bound by blood experiencing the same descent. It feels peaceful in a way, as if this is the closest we have ever come to understanding one another.

There is no rescue coming, but perhaps rescue was never the point. If we must drown, then let it be together, Mother. Let the weight pull us under in unison, for in this surrender, we finally find what we never could on land: the peace of knowing neither of us is alone.

This is a collaboration post by and . We wanted to explore the emotional distance that can exist in a mother–daughter relationship

We had such a great time working on this; it was really meaningful to bring those feelings to life and to work with such a phenomenal writer.

Check out the accounts to see more of our work if you’d like!

Thank you for reading :)

There was a quite testimony in your name what served of me reached for you; Despite it you remain an abstraction you are no longer solidified. when ache fused deeper into me I realise I reach for what no longer exists. Every ounce of entity consumed in search of you.

Every realm unable to separate us. My consciousness scatters you before me line by line, allow me to gather you. You accompany me in every threshold in ever realm between two lives and demise you are real for if you are not I am already dead. I exist between folds of time; infinite where permanence reaches me. My body aches to believe I call out in the dead of night bare witness! For if I cannot see you my eyes are flawed and if I can’t reach you I am tactility flawed but you are flawless my dear; you are near.

Your vacant presence lingers in between life and my demise; a shapeshifter dependant on consumption, hovers around my aching soul; Devotion. Fuses in between the folds of my brain; Grief. Alas, it secures around my throat; longing. Here I exist half pulsed with you.

Sweet paralysis, gnawing my soul would be gentler than the lack of you.

My vocal cords soaked your pulse now I hear your whispers within; your quiet whisper now recognised. shallow by waiting, by wanting. Your desperation now lingers in mine. I feel your eyes on me vividly as if you are not a creation of my own. Damaged consciousness brings you back to me for an instance, between realms, in shades existing only in deprivation of all light.

My mind a gun of its own recoils by your absence. Unable to accept it, holds a tenebrous scenery with a body upfront; ache traces in tensed air, into you. My fingertips reach to trace my love embodied; they only get hold of oblivion, I longed for nonentity for I cannot hold the world in my hands. Every passing day I grew fonder of it.

Sweet parasomnia gentler than your absence.

I lie still in the dead of the night hoping you will reach for what’s yours and separate it from this flesh and bones; it ache for belonging desperate for presence of who owns it. I walk the line midst all that was and never will be leaning on either ends becoming the architect of my destruction; the price I pay despite this heavy wage reveals what lies beyond this collapsing boundary but never across.

THE DESCENT ( hypnagogic state )

My consciousness aches for any lingering bit of you; any atom it can hold before it loses sight of you I reach into nothingness I beg of you my love turn to something tell me that you exist somewhere anywhere exist anywhere for that is enough for me to share land with humanity laced in cruelty I will play my role and choke on my mistakes until what comes out is rage and betrayal.

You haunt not just life and death but what lies between it extended into infinity; Half shared consciousness, folds of our brains entangled precisely. My consciousness fights myth for they knew you once existed now you remain a void in the dead of night never whole never vacant the fumes of you diffuse in my veins and linger till you arrive again, I surrender in your mercy your unreliable visit is more Devine than any holiness I execute under daylight. I surrender oh my love!, my love fuses into me till the world cannot tell us apart. Flesh and bones remain a humiliation for they never binded us together I do not claim what doesn’t bring me closer into you.

THE ASCENT ( Hypnopompic state )

longing turns to ache, my body aches for release, if you won’t hold me whole do not hold me at all do not come to haunt me in solitude for there in no witness of this ritual I display myself for you, so return my love even as a shadow a dream or a myth for I will be waiting forever and always.

Our love trapped in between the distance of what cannot be touched or felt; two realms staring into each other separated by pulse.

There’s a thin line between memory and haunting, and I walk it every night.

The walls breathe your name and fragments of darkness pulled me closer to you there was a strange intimacy in being haunted our pulses brushed against each other; my consciousness an unreliable bridge between us your nearness creeped around my neck you are sharp you are electric just how I remember you to be.

Forgive yourself for the things that turned you into a ghost. Let me watch you love yourself solid again.

My soul lied content under the thought; I could reach for nonentity and still find you there soul can not contain the infinite not even infinity is enough to reveal the depth of my love so I lie content and hold on to nothingness these mere seconds I am haunted gracefully. Sweet parasomnia, bring them back as a shadow, a dream even a sound for my body aches for the one who haunts all my realities, I will reach for nothingness and hope to meet you on the other end.

For id rather be a vacant medium of lingering devotion than carry the sorrow of your absence in my blood. In the dead of night I am closer to you, I wish to die here; Half pulsed, earnestly yours.

everything inside of me is alive and dying at the same time against each other.

This post is a collaboration with my friends, and fellow Substackers - , , ,

We wanted to write about yearning and what it means to us, individually.

I hope you enjoyed my piece !!

Check out the other posts of the most talented individuals to experience their version of yearning! 🤍

Thank you for reading :)

The limit exceeds due to the hunger to attain equal power over another, To make consequence known. Driven by the need to be superior or to be known as such.

In order to acquire reciprocation we cross the line of humanity only to learn the price on the other end. In the case of revenge even the meekest most docile of all living creatures shall retaliate if pushed against itself, against the limit of endurance that it may possess; even the worm will turn.

The definition of morality is distorted according to self fulfilment; what feeds their hunger for superiority. Needlessly to say the right to exist is fabricated in to us with the right to remain human without being forced beyond this limit.

The soul enters a restless battlefield until justice is served, another soul enters the same war suffers the same consequences and spills equal amount of blood. Blood on one scale vengeance on the other, humanity holding the scale together. The ache propels us deeper into the madness of this war, an endless human cycle. Retaliation the common concept; the common weapon.

Like a marble that hits the cold pavement bounces back, intensified by cruelty multiplied with every new soul that enters the battlefield. It reeks of mourner’s blood activated by revenge, in need to seek equal power and misery over another, driven by humanity’s rage, even the worm drowning in the mourner’s blood will turn.

Even a fish in another ecosystem simultaneously consumes its kind the very kind that it pushes out of itself, digested in agony.

The prey becomes the predator. Even the worm will turn.

My endless love for you that runs in the blood binds me into humanity. It is the very revelation that makes me human, out of love for you I have forgiven myself and the world that unwinded the thread that fabricated our being. Most importantly I forgive you for making me turn against my blood and all that makes me human or perhaps it’s what they say so; I become a martyr of your love my last breath in your name to remind you I am yours before I am human.

Your martyr rests here with the quiet hope that this war never finds you.

A martyr for love asks not for remembrance, only that the beloved lives unscarred.

A messy draft. Thank you for reading :)

I am going to leap out of this moving car. It’s suffocating me my mothers words press on my mind it’s selfish we have to get somewhere keep composure and endure I think to the moment I rested my head on a stranger I share blood with. Your violent words hum pierce my heart naming my life in irony I rebuild myself again to be destroyed by you I cure the wound just for you mom so It may taste those words again and again till it’s a lump in my throat. That is the value of your proximity; the only nearness I know of you, I sacrifice myself so I may afford it. Your presence is like the sun mom, the rays burn my skin but without you I do not subsist, a failure at that. I am content with this for I know no other version of you I accept all versions of you even if no version accepts me

give birth to me again I’ll make you proud this time

This unconditional love isn’t transactional mom but I can not give you those nine months back so I beg you take my whole life and my disappointment and please look at me with the love you did when I had just came out of you when you talk down on me it helps me endure the moment i carry your empathy and your wrath for you are the best and the worst. I must taste rage to feel softness that’s what you taught me didn’t you? So I swallow your rage till it makes me sick to my stomach I wish to lift the weight off of you for it is growing you weak let me swallow it till our blood is polluted and the sickness is chronic. I will hold on to this violence and name it your legacy. I promise to be the perfect daughter in death.

I look for my mothers love in all the corners of the world

Wrote this on the way to a function posting it on the way back unsure. Thank you for reading :)

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SELF DIGESTION

my skin loses color. The same flush of blood that made its way to my cheek at the sight of you now sits dry. Pallor mortis. Body; calloused. I can not feel my heart tell me is it with you my love? Rigor mortis. Strip me of my humanity but please let me keep this love. The ache creeps up on my skin, red turns to purple deepened by your absence. Lumen, hollow, inhumane the love that gave me life now feeds on me in death . Livor mortis .

LEACHING

under this leathery desiccating skin my insides continue to fight for a life that no longer exists.

ACTIVE DECAY

The universe acted as a catalyst that fueled me into oblivion, It was an esoteric kind of slow subtle violence. The unforgiving kind fused with betrayal. A way for the universe to reprove me for leeching on to this forbidden love so therefore I obey even in torment the only name on my tongue is yours. I succumb to extend this love into oblivion I hold on to nothing but this dooming desire. Bones fractured to dust but my love remains, it withstands the ravages of time embedded in me like fingerprint patiently waiting to be rediscovered. Every force set to deteriorate me further. Every fragment of life in favor to corrupt mine. Hunger for power, hungry for wholeness, for immortality it will engulf me whole. Flowers will grow in the cracks of my fragment. With grace here I decompose in your name, immortal, part of the universe everlasting, since that’s what I promised my love to be.

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them, and that is eternity

ADVANCED DECAY

The parasite your love consumes me the host. Decayed corpse. Blood evaporated soul sucked to oblivion foul odour here my grotesque love lies what remains of me will unravel into you until I am hollow and you are holy. I offer you what remains of me, eternal sleep and rot for I don’t know what I am if not yours, the venue of your affection now in its rawest form. My body patiently waiting to resurrect again so it may preform its duty to nurture you again. Will you still hold me? Hold me withered, hold me dry, hold me impure, concealed with dirt and pain and guilt, unholy, incomplete and corrupted by your power i am so fond of.

power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely

The ache i carried with in silently, turns inside out. A final revelation . There was no relief because there was no witness. There remains no proof of my survival did i even exist my only one?

Will you remember me even if there’s no proof of my survival? If I become a fragment of your imagination. Life not only separates us but befogs the past we shared. Will your bones still remember mine? Even if there’s only ache to embody it along with the reeking odour that invades your lungs. will you still see beauty in my abomination my love? I value your validation for I shall wither to your liking. Every self of mine is yours even this decay you refuse to avow.

SEKELTONISATION

My porcelain skin cracks and my love for you seeps through the fractures stubbornly making it’s way to you. I wither and I wither and I wither guilt tied with my longing, my impenitent heart denies it’s holiness for there is none left I kneel not to adjure but to embody my weakening defenses. Every ache was a confession every resurrection was laced with devotion, the heart you own is now hollow and emptied out I was never a vessel for this love I embodied it and when I went the way of all flesh my love remains here and everywhere. Like wilting leaves before reincarnation our only fate was to die. In your arms I was sacred now I rot unconsecrated.

I desire / I decay / I resurrect

Relentlessly, Endlessly

I desire / I decay / I resurrect

so tell me, my love,

I desire / I decay / I resurrect

do you feel the love in your bones,

I desire / I decay / I resurrect

and the love in my remains?

I desire / I decay / I resurrect.

draft. Thank you for reading :)

The cycle of pain is an inevitable procedure, you cannot turn away from it, at least not when it controls you and consumes you. You have to live through it to get through it and come out the other end. Stronger .Despite all of it’s destruction it remains a catalyst for strength. Our brain remembers everything the body has forgotten. So I remain a frequent visitor to my mind as it shows me all the angles of life I wont experience, my deepest desires almost within my reach. I exist between reality and delusion and in that alone I feel content, However the truth of reality lies in between the imagination therefore I can not make sense of where I stand. I finally come to the conclusion, reality and imagination both are equally as deceiving. That is what life is . Deceiving. Hope being the very first betrayal of existence.

The duality of life lies in the outcome of suffering. In the moments that feel like death every aspect of our being deteriorates, in slow complex ways. After the scale of pain excels beyond our capability you will find ache pouring out and more pain settling into reality solely from the thought of just existing in it. Exhausting, deeply daunting way of existence. Living becomes a chore when our body is not fond of the circumstances it survives in. Survival mode. In the constant state of depression and health decline our body rejects life. Most importantly our body rejects itself, However it is not to blame. Sadness shapes you in unimaginable ways shapes you into who you are and yet to become, pain the most devastatingly vulnerable emotion reinvents you, reforms you.

It is easier to believe the idea that you can control emotions, feelings as you see fit truth is they control and shape us they’re like a mold we bend and break to fit into whereas other times it can be freeing. Emotions pour out of our body there are times they can’t fit into the mold the world creates for us. To feel everything is to live fully. However constant pain is infectiously dangerous it can spread over your whole life like a fire. When there is no rope of meaning to hold onto even when you have endured the pain made peace and acceptance with it, the feelings left behind can be a constant appearing and disappearing act, healing is not linear and that too is okay there is beauty even in suffering.

It is important to push through dauntingly painful days when you sit in the darkness praying for a glimmer of light to shine through not because it is what you want but because it is most familiar. Uncomfortably comfortable. We think it’s comforting but really our body is just coping with loss. The loss of the person filled with light and life that is now unrecognizably enigmatic. The loss of looking into your reflection and finding a stranger. It is important to survive those days so you can make your way towards better ones, where beauty lies in every element of life and when the weight of the word feels less heavier you will finally see what life silently subtly promised you. With every hardship there is ease and with every commotion there is always peace afterwards.

Difficult days and emotions have their own values and importance in this circle of life they give you something to strive for another reason to move forward. How privileged we are to start over, to send out kindness in the world hoping it will reach someone in need of it. How brave to fight for something, to survive for something. There’s grace in survival because it is a confirmation of your resilience, there are times we wish that every ounce of happiness or joy and laughter did not come with the substantial price of paying with pieces of ourselves. It’s true that acceptance is not easy adversity can soften us most times it enrages us, either ends of the spectrum is just the denouement of the pain you have felt, The proof of your being and a confession of your existence. So lean towards the end of the spectrum that leads you towards a more meaningful ending. Find the light that filled you before the darkness became your projection and a home to the empty, cold, lifeless, still human body. Our body exists but the soul is what keeps us alive. Strive for better days so you may see better days as you deserve better days. Despite the inevitable suffering.

rushed piece. Still trying to find my light I hope you find yours. Thank you for reading :)

The smoke enters my lungs, my vision blurs, i have lost sight of you. i don’t see you. why don’t i see you? the sound of your footsteps echo in my head as you walk away, it repeats like a silent, earnest prayer “turn back.” “come back to me.” you were long gone. There’s a fire, it burns. my heart, my memories.

My eyes wander to your shadow, you told me you could recognize me by my silhouette alone. maybe that’s all you had of me, of what you let yourself keep of me, because holding me whole was too much. you were terrified of us blurring, you hid from what you wanted most. i knew it was an old habit.

The memories of us replayed in my head like a broken record player the good, the bitter and I, the aftermath. Each thought and memory of you holding its own space and importance like trophies on a shelf. every memory was like a gun to my head after you pulled the trigger, i realized they were weapons, not trophies, and I your only target. However, there was a relief in knowing it belonged in your hands, so it became something I grew fond of.

The bittersweet taste of our memories lingered in my mouth. The taste was familiar, the kind of familiar i will never know again, so i hid it beneath my tongue, pressed it down in attempts of avoiding it, so I survive it in one piece. i won’t. it burns, the heart in my chest burns. you set fire to the very place you called home. The blaze that kept you warm devoured me whole. I stare, i stare as i watched you walk away with the match held between the fingers of the hands that once held me, erasing any traces of me behind. Your only wish to sterile your life, to separate the poison in your body that was mixing in. To purify yourself was your last hope. and mine? i wished to drown in it. i dreamed for it to flow through my veins, to enter my heart, my head, to infiltrate my organs and settle in the depths of my bones. Suffering at the hands of you was the last bit i experienced with you. i beg to keep that memory. I stare at the flame that spread ablaze my heart as our shared past turned into ashes, you cut off the last string that tied us together and broke free. I am glad you’re free my beloved, it’s what you wanted. i watched our memories go up in smoke. I hope you erase me like how you always wanted. The fire you started was the last bit of warmth i received from you, so i hope to burn in it forever.

time drags on. The ache lingers. time heals all wounds, they say. not if you keep scratching the surface. the phone rings “hello?” That voice it was the sound of my defences collapsing. “I remember everything.” same arsonist, same victim, new fires. i burn for you, i admit, I will always burn for you. I was there again, or maybe i have always been there still, defenceless. I will burn forever but now I wont scream, I stay unspoken, I put the telephone facing down. its time l stop scratching the surface.

a piece inspired by the call me by your name fire place scene. Thank you for reading :)

My mind is a traveler. The fan spins. I am brought back to reality. I'm not there. My head spins. I fade out. Put down the blade. The blade? The pen. The pen? Your mind is a time traveler don't you remember you exist where it takes you. My childhood home. The dolls I never played with my mother in the kitchen. Sunken eyes, Depression lingers. The anger you got familiar with remember? No, I am here, my pen in my hands. My exam is close in the future. No you are in that house you feel what you saw it haunts you doesn't it? The anger, the misery, the innocent smile. you feel it all now? , you rest your head on your mothers lap as she talks about your marriage. Marriage? I am here. Perhaps you are in school. last row. eyes watch you make motion. Every glance feels like judgement. My heart sinks so does my body in this chronic depression I am brought back to the day I was abandoned yet again, they walked away? No, they are here. Put down your heart. My heart? Your pen. Reality sinks in.

more scraps. thank you for reading :)

Being in the midst of many familiar and unfamiliar faces such as myself i often find myself thinking of you while the conversations become an unclear tune in the background i think of you , your eyes i think of the mole imprinted on your neck so artistically an essence of beauty of it owns it captivates me you captivate me i ponder about your smile your laugh fills me with life and softens me i think about how you once told me“_____ even in my imaginations i hold your hand softly so i do not hurt you” and i think to myself how can any force in the universe weaken that love? it makes me question how could i ever not be the right one for you? but then i am reminded perspective changes all our perceptions differ immensely. I think of the girl that was once yours the one that is only ever yours.The one with innocence the one filled with love just for you , hope and dreams to live in the close vicinity of her lover i miss her, i miss you now instead of living i exist, i'm floating mid air floating through time with no sense of direction because conveying my love is what guided me moved me gave me direction a compass to navigate the happiness i had always desired for myself. I think of you in all my misery and failure and temporary smiles in the centre of all chaos , you . Conjuring up all i have ever felt and arranging it in words like decorating an abandoned museum building with art that was once admired and loved now just barren silent and cold like your love has grown this has been one of the most difficult and bravest things i have ever done while my hands are unsure of its next move unaware of the feeling and emotions you left behind forever that are only known and recognised truly by me while my brain carries the memories of it i get overwhelmed and anxious because i am bombarded with an emotion so intense i think i am incapable of ever explaining it to another i always hoped that your soul would be able to recognise it to understand it to feel it but I am unsure tell me you feel it too? Tell me you see it too tell me I am not insane that reminiscing over all I had with you and all that remains and all that could’ve been and all that was does not make me a crazy deluded woman? tell me my lover that you are only silent because it is difficult  to explain and not because you have forgotten I am hopeless I am in despair reassure me once more like you did will you? I promise to memorise it and dedicate it a place of its own in my brain , once will you notice me with your eyes your beautiful eyes just notice me please notice me do you not see how I burn and scream I try to convince myself that you are blind or deaf or just simply too occupied to notice but I have known you too long to know that that is too untrue  regardless I ache, I ache for you I love you with every breath I take I am unable to break off this disgustingly substantial desire to cleanse my soul free of it do you not see this is what makes me me? How do I stop being me?