wearestarstuff

Status: it's been a while
Joined: September 27, 2012
Last Seen: 1 week
Birthday: February 12
user id: 332267
Location: Pluto
Gender: M
glenno. 24.
INTP.
 
putting the try in poetry. 
passionately curious. 
1° 17′ N.  lost. 
 
dihydrogen monoxide connoisseur, asmr junkie,
maladaptive coping mechanism tester, deteriorating mess,
hoe for Pluto etc.
 
evidently horrible at introductions. 

   say hi?   

 
tumblr
poetry: messagestoanonymous

other picturesque melancholy: textisdead


twitter
@cloudstains / @glennunedited

chapbooks
scribd.com/cloudstains
or
yumpu.com/cloudstains


I love you, H. 

"when even to exist seems a victory, then surely our luck has run thin" -- Charles Bukowski

Quotes by wearestarstuff

22 December 2018
 

I imagined     my mind knowing better          felt
my viscera quiver.      the birds get     startled
into flight     though     always round-trip.
it’s good to be     home alone          not that you would
if I had     anything to do about it          but
we make do.            life sucks
its thumb.      you’re right where
you’re meant to be.      who’s to say blankets
aren’t party dresses     or that eyes
can only wet     in one way.
gloveless     in this eventide chill.
luckily     we aren’t parting thickets
for interstices          for clarity.
I empathise with     the trees that bend
out of light’s way     at least till rough
limbs creep up     gently
against glass they     refuse to crack.
dirty bedroom window     remains so.      it treasures
the head that rested on it     oil and all     pondering
the ease with which     we dance     around naked intention.
show me     it’s possible to live     and for quite a while
without flowering     a new wound.
how lovely we are     in our natural state.
taste of raw     tongue on my     tongue          waves
fragile at our feet.      we stay dipped     long enough for
our digits     to grow old          shrivel without
fear.      something once felt     too cruel to endure.
I would not have chosen     to float
if given the option.            but now          i’ll swim.

And maybe I'm lost, in a way that's never meant to be found.
nostalgia is bittersweet and tonight i've just been completely immersed in it.

hello. long time no see. how has everyone been?
not like anyone cares, but i'm sadly still (physically) alive.

self-serving rant. don't even bother.

things have completely changed: no glimmer of hope i was clinging on to ever materialised. i am left even more alone than ever because of how much of a different person i've become; i don't blame anyone for it, most of the time it doesn't even matter -- this is just one of the rare times where i feel it really does. i haven't been feeling like a human at all. i spend most of my waking hours running around classes and to places i don't want to be in, all while being completely detached and half-asleep from a settled lethargy. from before the sun rises till well after the sun sets, every single f*cking day. i don't remember the last time i smiled. i don't remember the last time i felt like i had a good day. the fact that this is the life i've been forced into is only beginning to set in. 

feeling like a complete wreck has screwed with my emotions way too much. one moment i'm flaring up, cursing at everything and everyone, the next moment i'm just in pieces. either way, i'm completely consumed. there is nothing i feel like i'm really comfortable at and that i can find solace in. writing bad poetry has taken up most of my time and gotten my mind off my real life, but my imagination is running dry and i feel that i should just accept that i suck and stop writing/trying to do something i'm not meant to do.

for the millionth time, everyone is sick of hearing about this whole situation. don't ask me what's wrong. this is what's wrong. i won't even bother to try and salvage this (anymore). i've tried to find a way out on my own, spent hours talking to people who know better than to just simplay say that things are going to be okay, etc. and the consensus was the same: i'm screwed and that's just how unfair life is.

i myself am sick of having to talk about this but it's just something that's constantly nagging in my head because i'm living in it.

i want to leave.

 

in a chance meeting with the lips that were
the chaperone of your cotton mouth,
i kindled a spark on the tip of my tongue
with the sole intent of lighting the cotton;
burning it with incendiary agility,
that guides towards your clouded lungs. 

i never fathomed your psyche;
and as it burned, it still refused
to release you—clear as glass—
to cry for mercy with the truth,
instead preferring to asphyxiate
in an obscurity that won’t dispel.
if ink flowed through my veins,
then i already have you—

all thoughts: said or unsaid,
written down or not.
omnipresent in every nook,
filled to the brim;
exhaustively fluent.

kissing bugs may imbibe
to their heart’s content
through permeable susceptibility,
but they’ll return every drop,
injecting with a written apology.

if i evaporate to vacuity,
vapour will sprout 
up to the clouds and
scribe them ink black
to project your cursives. 

i become your language
and this is forever.
we smash glass. 

in smithereens they scatter
away from each other;
 
a release of suppressed repulse. 

our triumphal celebration,
hosted in rage, all just to prove 

that we’re destructive, (too). 

but in the end,
we both still hold the crown

of being the most destructed.
'ascent'

i ascend, harness uncinched.
you peeled my fingers off.

i love the fall, only because 
it’s to know i got so high. 
dislodged somatic bones;
a puzzle that fell into place; 
intentions now clear. 

to know there is pain 
from this semblance of utopia
is to say, i have experienced
a subset of this immensity
so insurmountable. 
all that lingers is enough.

for now.

i am a secant.

i cut you once;
i came back to do it again.
you sighed, 
but said it was alright
and drew hearts with blood.

less idealistic,
more anatomically correct.

“i am so sorry”
the sea repeats after me in a monotone.
i asked to be ferried out
but i didn’t have a ticket.

i wasn’t given one.

and stolen tickets weren’t accepted.

i unstitched your cicatrices 
and pulled out the string of words. 
it was in a language i didn’t understand.

you kissed me a lesson.
 

it is a per annum affair, that
i wish for another gasp of air.
but it seems this year,
i’ve exceeded my credit limit.
i am the collateral, seized.