White Hole

by Blue_Notebook

Mother, mother! How I love this earth and all that runs dead in it. My eyes are perfected to not see and I live in utter darkness. Let me plant here trees as gold as the moon. Later on, I will build a garden full of sparkling flowers as white as the night sky where I will play, hide, and tumble to sleep. It is such a burden to want. Oh, it is such a burden to want for beauty while adhering to desolation.

Father, father! I wonder, where did the birds fly to sing? This castle’s walls have locked me in tightly. The ancient throne crumbles. Won’t save the crown but I’ll find the dragonfly who wandered in my cell months ago. Is it alive, do you think? I wish to have it beside me, the only living thing in a kingdom of corpses. If it had fled, I’ll find it even if it means that I must live to do so.

Comrade, comrade! My heart’s fallen into the deepest excavation. When I peered to seek for it, the hungriest of roars that belong to the devil met my fate. A solemn picture of misery. Just as I am about to abandon peril I’ve been asked for by beauty in grace. How is it like to be mortal and to believe in the existence of souls when the truth is that there is only one soul meant for the other to experience? A singular malice that tempts to kill whoever tames it. I must be mad. The wind beckons. To indulge in lively matters does not exempt a creature of distaste. Ready my talons. Insanity was, at last, alas, humbled by the earth’s reflection.

Companion, companion! Do tell me no sweet words. Abandon the poet in you for a moment and be true. I wish to know if in the moments that I have gambled life, in the aeons where I have offended all of the stars to shine in your favour, in the decades that I have blinded you to see faux beauty in papers instead of destruction, in the years which we’ve spent opiated in each other’s palms, in the months that follow which burned the rose between us; I wish to know and I wish to hear if we ever truly were alive in those paintings. Folding your skin so empty in my hands, were you ever there with me? Or have I loved a carcass? A costume?

Lover, lover! Apologies, I am late. You are lost, I see. Take my wings and go back to where you came from. Bother not to give them back for from me you’ve won your freedom. Truth is, my being’s bound with burning chains and can reach you no further. I’m too embarrassed. Death to the love that stripped me naked and whipped me to bones. I’ve got nothing more to offer. Sorrowful I am to become less and less every minute and yet love the way I am reduced to nothing. But I am not tired. This body is meant to exhaust and wilt. I want to believe in spirits. Who will love a memory, anyway?

Doctor, doctor! There is no more ink for my pen. The paper’s a void. A very still void that grows colder and colder in front of me. Where do I get a doctor for this? I am in need of a surgeon who could help me remove the anger, replace it with anything, and stitch me back up. Make me like them, doctor. Make me a doll.

Doctor, doctor! I’ve been sick for as long as I can remember. Out in that flower-speckled earth is someone I adore, someone who owns me and doesn’t know it. You can call that someone irresponsible. Although for me, the right term is “unbelievable”. Is it a possibility? To receive the life of someone without conditions and not recognize that it is love?

Embalmer, embalmer! Please tell the master of my thoughts, creator of my creations, breather of my oxygen, the reason for my reasons; that in the emptying of myself, I wish to be stuffed with flowers. I’ve written poems and poetry. I’ve printed the eulogy. Stuff them inside my sliced-up body, make me feel full for I’ve lived my years untenanted.

Mortician, mortician! Just a last wish. Don’t bury me as a hollow love. I wish to be laid to rest, so let the person, the life of my life, hear this last message of mine.
But you’re not a doll like them, are you? Eat up the whole world and vomit it afterwards. I will wait at the endless end where I will be more open. And you’ll see Switzerland with a touch of Rome and Paris. Beauty and poetry. I will wait and until then, love.

Author’s Note: I think this is a letter (?). Well. Yeah. You know. Letters. Fancy receiving one. I’ve written myself lots and burn them. A sort of ritual. This one looks pretty for me. I hope it’s really not. I wish that this piece talks. Does it? Did you really hear it? No photos today and to more days after this. I broke my phone weeks ago and can’t be contacted, too (such a relief). Have a nice day to all of you and that you for still reading in this site! I’m a very compulsive writer and my hurts do not frequent me now because of my acads therefore I cannot write as fast and as much as I can. A bit kidding on the “hurts” but it’s either that or me in rage or death. Anyways, I’ll be off again for a while and wait until my hands are up to write again. Maybe some of you are wondering if I am a real person or if the one handling this blog is just a person or a bunch of persons. Just a person. Just me. And I’m not quite sure on being human but I am a person. What else…I love cats.

Oh, and concerning photos: https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.pinterest.com%2Fpin%2F553872454145965994%2F&psig=AOvVaw2abIwQUFbkPtMIgVhiRdrX&ust=1613450425325000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCJCw-rGJ6-4CFQAAAAAdAAAAABAJ

Credits to: http://www.cosmosup.com/what-are-white-holes/

You might want to check on this article, too. It’s a lovely read.

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