The Universe Loves You (Its People Are Blind But It Hopes That Forgiveness Can Still Be Found)

Glory To The Faithful (The World Screams In Its Anguish)

His hands twitched, his skin rubbed red and raw, his breaths escaping his chest with a rasping wheeze. Apologies carved into his chest as he claws at his arms, the stain of gold stark on his skin. He had not left the cell in days, scrubbing at the stone bricks in vain. Glowing faintly in the dark, he sobs tearless cries at the cruel reminder of his mistakes, as the waters bleed crimson. His blood over his God's, though now he began to doubt his claim of fervent devotion, he has no right, but he is far too greedy to offer its sacrifice just yet. Cradling his vision close, bloody streaks tracing the engraved constellation he knew was his, proof of his status even if he were to fall from grace. Memories with jagged edges that tear and spill open the truths he wished not to see. Iron to his eyes and thread through his lips, he can not hear and no longer can he feel, penance for his sins. A warden of a prison that holds only one. He burns alone, deep beneath the dark waters.

Anemoia (How Long Will You Reach For The Ghosts Of Distant Stars?)

They could see the stars tonight, bright splatters of light across the shadows of the sky. They don't really know why they decided to come out here, so far from the comfort of their little cottage, but they don't want to return, not yet at least. Wrapped in their cloak, they nestle themselves into the trunk of an old, hollowed out tree as they crane their neck upwards. The stars flicker and blink down at them, almost as if they were waving a hello. A ridiculous thought they don't mind entertaining as they raise their own hand to wave back. Maybe they are a bit of a fool, but they never claimed to be wise in the first place.

This reminds them of dreams they could have sworn they had forgotten, the wisps of names and faces that linger on their tongue even as the memories faded from their mind. They could almost feel the leathery skin underneath their fingertips, the sharp edges of scales too big. The blooming feeling of awe as feather and fur alike curl around their shoulders. Even the whistling winds, rustling through leaves and grass, remind them of the songs they used to sing, the lyrics long forgotten. Not quite unexpectedly, it hurts. Aching something fierce and bold in their chest, that forces tears to well in their eyes. Logically, they know it's silly to cry over something they can barely remember, over something that the world doesn't remember existing. At least, not in this life.

But they don't swallow down the sob that leaves their throat nor wipe away the iridescent tears that fall from their eyes. They don't mind the chill that seeps into their chest as their tears soak through the thin fabric of their shirt, far too busy watching the stars drift across the skies. They think, at first, only distantly, that they can see the twisting shapes of long serpentine bodies and billowing wings. They swear they can hear the timber of voices overlapped, the shadows of all too human bodies that they should know but can't quite remember. They wonder if they can miss people that don't exist.

They wonder if these memories are what drives them away from the people, the connections, of this earth. Star child, they remember their grandmother whispering to them in the late hours of the night. You are loved, they remember her murmuring to them every day from then on. They remember clinging to her feeble form as she spun tales of mystical beasts and stories of man made gods. Rivers to a lake, spiraling into the deep caverns underneath, hoarding knowledge underneath their silence. They wonder if there was some truth to her tales after all.

Star child, that name, title they suppose, has haunted them throughout their entire life. They wonder if it is why they can taste lightning on their tongue even when the skies are clear, if it is why they can feel the brittle-snap of thunder between their teeth. They wonder if it is why frost cradles their skin even when hearth-warm fire curls in their chest, the duality often leaving them sick and bedridden. Wildfires spark to life, just shy of burning and charring the vulnerable flesh of their heart. That coil around their ribcage and rumble as though the earth was quaking under a cat's quiet purr. All the while, ice forms at the base of their throat, encircling their arms like sharp shackles. They don't mind the chill, even when it hurts to speak. They welcome the frost and the cold, wrapping themselves in snow to stave off the constant heat.

They suppose it is, just like the winds that push for them to wander the world. A wanderlust unseen in their family, where others root themselves into the soil, they take to the skies. Following where the breeze and the gales blow them, the peaks of snow-capped mountains and the depths of oceans. Their body is not meant for travel, frail from the war that wages inside them. But it's not as if they could stop. They ache for the road, to chase after the stars as if they could someday reach up to pluck them from the skies. Their only real companion over the years, the feel of coiled bodies in the palm of their hand and the sound of an echoing roar in their ears.

Sometimes, they still expect a tail to curl itself around their legs even though the creature that tail is connected to only resides in their dreams. They still turn and expect to see the divine tipped claws of monsters, to have to tip their head back to speak to looming shadows of those they should know and still somewhat do, even if they haven't met them yet. Their disappointment when all that greets them is silence and emptiness is often crushing and immeasurable, inconsolable grief that drapes across their shoulders like a dark veil. Those days, they spend their time inside, away from the sun and the stars, away from the gaze of the people that stare and stare. They spend those days painting and writing, over and over, trying to capture the faces and forms of their companions they so desperately want to remember.

But it never looks quite right. Something is always wrong, always off. Failure is a bitter thing to swallow, it tastes of bile and blood and tainted honor. It is the shattering of pride, the sting of human hubris that leads them to bury their half written journals and messily sketched paintings. It is what forces them to grip the few pieces of their memories close, cradling their dreams like the most precious of treasures. Long fluttering scarves and cloaks, flowing fabrics that hide the invisible pouches of chiming bells and glimmering scales. Though they carry little on their journey, they can't help but feel an anchor's weight on their shoulders, Atlas heavy. A worthwhile price for the imaginary companions that drive away the loneliness, even if they do still want to feel the steady heartbeat underneath their hands.

Star child, they muse to themselves, it grows more fitting by the year. Stardust in their veins and the world at their fingertips, it is only a matter of time before they will be cradled in the careful coils of their once lost companions, one way or another.

@n0tamused

Exalted By Eternal Sanctity (The Ephemeral Heavens Deem It Sin)

Pretty little thing

Desperate for a favor

A glance or a graze

Your adoration is adorable

It's almost enough to give in

You would accept anything wouldn't you?

Whether it be punishment or praise

It's all the same to you

Anything for attention

For the drug that you covet  

Where is your pride?

Your dignity?

Have you lost it all for me?

Addicted to my presence

Your desperation clouds your gaze

And makes you all the more willing for me

Such a pitiful little thing

So pliable and sweet

Yet nothing more than

A sinner who craves piety

Hey, can y’all rb this if it’s okay to send you messages asking about your ocs, cause on god I wanna interact with y’all but I am terrified of being annoying lol

Normalcy Is What You Crave (But How Can You Be So Foolish?)

@m1d-45. I've returned with another poem.

Forgive and forget

An interesting saying, is it not?

But can it really be applied here

When the scars remain

Of cruel deaths 

And vicious hunts

When the memories linger

Plaguing the mind

Shattering rose tinted glasses

Can one be forgiven

Of such a heinous deed

Can one even forgive 

Such a terrible sin

When one pledges loyalty

Faith to the very end

But it is the monsters who stay

Devoted and loving

Forgiveness is not for you

They will never forget 

And they will never forgive 

Not in the way that matters

You who stood once so tall

Blessed and beloved

Are nothing more than sinners

Fallen from grace 

And it is before you 

Your honored god sits 

Surrounded by a court of monsters 

Who wait on them

For every beck and call

Forgive and forget, was it?

Pitiful.

Mercy was not meant for you

You shall find no salvation here

umm i need reassurance that my presence is wanted but i can’t ask for reassurance because that’s really Embarrassing and it wouldn’t feel genuine if i asked for it

I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.

We Told Nothing But Lies (But You Forgave Us Anyway)

A short piece inspired by @hiraya-rawr's sagau works but mainly references her last resort fic.

Captured and cornered

The crowd calls for your head

It was a mere panicked decision 

One you didn't even mean to make

Secrets spill from your lips

Ones you've discovered

Read and remembered

From the time before all this

Stories and promises 

Ones that shouldn't be known

All splayed out before them

Like a dam burst open

You can not stop the flow

That tumbles out

It splatters on their faces

Staining them ink and shadow

Send ice through their veins

Freeze them in place

A mirror gaze of stars 

That flicker in your blood

Blurring out your edges

Till the shimmer shine of nebulae

Are all that haloes your head

And envelopes your soul

Doesn't it hurt?

That all you're known for

Are stories blown out of proportion 

And never truly for yourself?

You have survived

But can you pay the price?

Remorse Is Not Forgiveness (And Forgiveness Won't Bring Them Back)

@m1d-45 A little piece inspired by some of your writing. I hope you'll like it!

The quiet fade to black

Waking to familiar scenes

Of an unfamiliar world

Only seen through fragile screens

The world croons in welcome

Though its sentiments aren't shared

As the people call for execution 

As beloved characters turn their blade

The ones built from ashes to glory

Now set their hunt upon thee

Run and hide

The clock is ever ticking

You will always be caught

So face your death with dignity 

Your blood runs starshine bright

Only seen in the burning light

But it's far too late

Your eyes shimmer and glaze 

Blank and dull and unseeing

Life fades from your body

Corpse cooling in the shade

There is no time for regret

No time for forgiveness 

Sunbeam golden chains bind them tight

As prayers fall from their lips

As the world mourns around them

Their mistake is unforgivable

And thus they must pay the price 

Blinded Visions (Won't You Open Your Eyes For Me, Beloved?)

The glimmer of sunlight flitting across the waters, crystalline reflections that fall into mist. His arms wrap around you, steady and firm as he feeds you piece by piece. The day is oddly quiet, but the change is welcome. It isn't every day your lover joins you for a simple walk. Though admittedly, you have derailed from your plans to visit the garden, but surely it can survive a day without your guidance. Overlooking the seas and sampling pastries from your favorite bakery with the most important person of your life is more than worth missing out on a few hours of fauna watching. It makes you almost wish these days would never end, just so you would never have to see him break from the countless cases he oversees. A judge in name, an executioner in form. It's all you can do to wipe his tears and embrace him close on rainy days. You would bring the world down to its knees for him, and he would do the same for you, but he does not want it for himself. It is a shame, you think, that he does not know the full weight of his worth. But it's alright, you have the rest of your life to convince him of your love.