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About Literature / Hobbyist CarissaFemale/South Africa Groups :iconbts-trove-of-poems: BTs-Trove-of-Poems
 
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Literature
Pieces of Heartbreak
i
My voice is harsh in the quiet of my mind,
I watch you tilt your head back and laugh
and everything suddenly shatters
ii
I count to two and take a shaky breath,
close my eyes when I reach three
and whisper your name in the lie of darkness
iii
The sharpness of glass digs into my tongue,
pick the shards out of your hair
and stand up again,
please,
stand up again
iv
My prayers melt into the red of the sirens,
a bed rolls by
then another
but where's the third?
v
Close the door,
sink to the floor and sing
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 18 1
Literature
Subtle Confessions
I stare at a strip of burning paper
and my heart aches
Like a snowflake
I want to sink into your skin
I want to be the rain
outside your window
And somewhere the sun
melts into the horizon once again
Pastel paint dissolves in turpentine
A candle's flame submits to the wind
And-
Can you hear my whisper in these lines?
I want to disappear
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 34 7
Literature
Day 10
My mother never understood what I meant when I asked her about the shadow butterflies. It seemed to upset her every time I brought it up so over the years I learned to keep quiet about them.
I called them shadow butterflies because that's what they looked like to me, pure shadow in the shape of butterflies. I changed their names to black butterflies later on when I realised that shadows are supposed to evaporate in the presence of light but even in the summer sun they wouldn't disappear.
The first time I saw them was when I was two. I had found a dead mouse that my ginger cat had abandoned in the kitchen, seemingly losing interest in the dirty body when he smelled his bowl of wet food in the corner.
They were strange, about half the size of the poor mouse with flimsy wings and no patterns. Just sleek ebony.
I had fetched my mum, my chubby finger pointing at the two butterflies just sitting there on the little body. She clicked her tongue, remarking how it was such a shame it had to die
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 16 13
Literature
Day 9
She buried all her memories in solander boxes.
Locked them up and hid them in the ground, burned the image of where and left the ashes for the wind to take.
Maybe she'd find them again someday when she could flip through pages without the pain. When she had grown and could handle the burden of her past.
Until then it was time to write her own script.
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 16 3
Literature
Day 8
A soft melody unfolds itself from a quiet corner on the busy street, a few office workers slowing their pace when they pass. The sound comes from a beat up acoustic guitar in the hands of a young street girl,   blistered fingers strumming the old strings as if they were made for nothing else.
Everyone knows her, albeit not her name.
Most just refer to her as the guitar girl on fifth street, others whisper the word prodigy under their breaths when they hear her play.
She has the power to move people to tears. She can make you stop whatever you're busy with, filling your mind with nothing but the sweet sound of her chords and timid voice.
Nobody knows where she came from, she just showed up one day with her guitar and a determined look on her face.
A runaway, they say. But what was she running from?
She doesn't earn much. Despite her skill she just makes enough to survive another night. Not due to a lack of people giving her money as praise for her melodies, but becaus
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 19 6
Literature
Day 7
The ropes tear at the thin skin of my wrists, leaving an angry red welt in protest. I bite my tongue to quell the irritation slowly building up.
"Witch," they hiss as I climb the steps.
"Whore," someone else screams when I reach the top.
I ignore them, fixing my gaze on a young woman whose face is hidden in the folds of her old cloak. The anger bursts free, enveloping my body in murderous flames. I take a deep breath, concentrating on the tell-tale tingle in my fingertips. Not now, not here.
Someone starts reading off the list of my so-called crimes. I suppress an eye roll, eyes still burning a hole through my so-called friend's forehead.
I could snap her neck with nothing but a flick of my wrist.
I smile at the thought but shake my head. I'd never resort to such dark magic.
The noose dropping around my neck snaps me out of my angry daze.
Fools.
My smile broadens when the board drops out at my feet, almost giggling at their ignorance.
Did they real
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 13 3
Literature
Day 6
I stood aside, fiddling with the lacy hem of my black dress. My eyes surveyed the room, drinking in the looks of exaggerated despair masking some of the people's faces. You had to look deeper, to those with small smiles and shadows under their eyes to find the true face of loss.
I shook my head, turning my attention back to my dress fluttering against my knees. I didn't know the girl that had passed away, she was a family friend's daughter and all I knew about her was from the framed photo that had stood on her coffin.
"The look of grief is a subtle thing," a young girl next to me noted. I nodded, nervously biting my lip.
"I can't bare to look at them dabbing their tissues to their eyes and saying how it's such a shame."
I risked a look at her, pure anger shining in her light blue eyes.
"People are selfish creatures," I amended, offering her a soft smile. An apologetic smile.
She returned it with a shaky one of her own but someone walking past caught her attention.
"Sorry, I nee
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 13 1
Literature
Day 5
It's been a while since the last one flared out. I've been tracking their lives, furiously keeping record of all the constellations still intact but I'm left with my head hung, hands tangled in my hair. There are too many x's on these pages of mine.
Aquarius fell last week. The last star blimped out one night while I was asleep and no one else saw it disappear. That's how it usually happens. One moment you're sitting outside on the damp grass, begging the last few lights not to go out but in a blink of an eye another one is gone.
The stars are dying. Nobody knows why. I've seen countless theories on TV, some make sense but most don't. Many say it's a sign of the end.
What if the sun flares out? It's a troubling thought at the edge of everyone's mind. What if we lose the one star keeping us all alive?
The stars are dying and I'm scared of the dark.
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 20 2
Literature
Day 4
Water
The loud crashing of the waves dominated my hearing. The chill of the ocean slid into me, hollowing out my bones and freezing my nerve-endings. I was completely numb.
Far-off I could hear the squealing laughter of children and their parents and my heart gave a slight tug back to the shore.
Many had gathered for the solar eclipse but most stayed far away from the mighty waves dominating the sea.
Most - except me.
It was when the world darkened, a hush falling over everything that I stopped fighting the stream. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the body of saltwater that would welcome me to its depths.
They never found me after that.
Fire
My sister lit all her candles for me that night. They hadn't found my letter yet.
She sat for hours staring at the 10 flames lighting her windowsill. My mom had to force her to go to sleep, she truly believed that once the candles burned out I'd come home.
I never did.
She still lights a candle for me every sunset. One singl
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 12 10
Literature
Day 3
I trace the tree leaves outside my window on the cold glass, whispering your name over and over.
I can't believe you're gone. It's as if 4 years, 5 months and 17 days meant nothing to you. I sit on my desk, tears littering the pages cradled in my lap. The letters. Our letters.
I flip to ones of our first Winter, reading my timid words of pure adoration lining the pages. It sickens me. I can feel every sentence forming a knot in my throat. I was so naive. I wrote to you of how I caught snowflakes outside and how they reminded me of your smile. Soft and angelic.
And watery. It never really meant anything, did it?
The ones during spring tells of how I planted flowers outside my window that more or less matched the shade of your blue eyes. They're all dead now. I let them die. I wanted you to die.
Summer comes and with it those nights we spent on the roof renaming and reforming the constellations. I still have the illustrations buried somewhere in the clutter of my roo
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 10 9
Literature
Day 2
Lyra blinks up at the pastel sky, pushing down a nagging feeling that she's forgetting something. Shrugging, she continues on, bare feet sliding through thick lavender grass.
She stops when she reaches a river, wading into the cool water. She stares at the pink sun's reflection. She finds it odd, but for some reason she can't remember exactly why.
Don't accept any gifts from a faerie.
The sudden thought startles Lyra, making her look around in alarm.
She notices a young man sitting a few metres from her and shakes her head, berating herself for not noticing him before.
"Hello," she calls out, hiking up her knee-length dress and moving closer.
"Hello", he replies, a beautiful smile lighting up his handsome face. Lyra stares in wonder, never having seen such a charming man before.
Don't eat faerie food.
She ignores the random thoughts intruding upon her mind, drinking in his features. Dandelion hair frames his face, eyes the colour of bluebells stare back at her. Lyra smile
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 11 9
Literature
Day 1
The metallic clash of the bathroom door rips me out of my tar-like thoughts and I glance up, making sure the stall door's still secured. The blurry strip of red on the lock comforts me.
I look down at the tears dripping onto my bare knees and my sight goes hazy again.
The memories suck me right back in. They ramify, spreading across my neurons like a disease. I can feel the ache in my chest filling again until it wells over and pools against my ribs, constricting my lungs. I let out a shaky breath and wind my fingers into my knotted hair.
I want to forget. Please let me forget.
But I fall back into the past with no one to catch me
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 18 8
Literature
A Testimony To My Existence
The pencil meets a blank page as I start the outlines.
My hand is steady with her feather-like frame. Slim shoulders embedded with the salt of others, snowflakes of tears crystallising down her narrow arms. Long fingers worn down to firmly grip her pencil, to eagerly flip the pages of her favourite novels.
I struggle a bit with the waist, it has to be the perfect length for his palms, just the right width for his fingers to encircle and touch at the tips. Her legs come easier, her awkward knees.
I sit back and take a breath. Then I continue on the finer features. Her long hair that tangles too easily, a slightly frowned forehead that confesses of too many late nights spent awake and worrying. I take a bit longer with her eyes, trying to get the correct blend of soft and precaution. I continue down her nose, finish her lips that feel too clumsy smiling.
My fingers start to shake a bit as I start on detailing her scars. It's only after ages of eraser dust and smudged pencil that I feel t
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 21 11
Literature
(21:38)
I once knew a girl who could make any plant grow. Even in the harshest of months her garden would thrive in pastel and vibrant coloured flowers. I always believed she had a bit of magic weaved into her blood cells. She was my best friend.
I could never quite find the best way to describe her eyes - they were ethereal. It was as if someone had taken blue bells and sewed parts of them together with bellflowers. She was beautiful. It was a delicate kind of beautiful, I was always scared she'd wither at my touch.
I thought she was evergreen.
Her hands were always stained with lavender and she had this sunflower smile… it would always light up the room.
I could sit for ages and stare at her nimble fingers at work. She always knew the best spot for planting. She taught me what she could, but most of what she knew came naturally to her. She had flowers blooming in her head, I would always tease.
I miss her terribly. I would never have thought that the girl with dais
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 19 8
Literature
(18:45)
The forest was eerily quiet today. Laika trudged through the deep undergrowth, amber eyes trained on the trees around her. Even they were silent, not the barest of a whisper catching Laika's sensitive hearing.
Strange, she thought to herself, tying up her abundance of red curls after they snagged on a thorn bush. It was never this solemn in these parts. Even the crickets were hushed.
The darkness was like a veil, snuffing out all sound. It bothered Laika. She missed the forest song. Its absence made her feel disconnected somehow. The forest had been her home since she was a pup. Eighteen years of living in the cabin with her mother and brother and this was the first time that such a hush hung over her head.
She inhaled, keeping the scented air trapped in her lungs as she dissected its scents, but she couldn't  find as much as a trace of whatever could be causing this. She shook her head. She didn't like this at all.
She came to clearing, her slender form blending in with th
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 5 5
Literature
(16:35) - (16:42)
(16:35)
Winter bleeds through my locked window.
* * * * * * * * * *
(16:39)
Spring softly blooms to life again.
* * * * * * * * * *
(16:41)
Summer sunshine strokes my sleepy eyes.
* * * * * * * * * *
(16:42)
Autumn colours burst from the trees.
* * * * * * * * * *
:iconGlasses-And-Blades:Glasses-And-Blades
:iconglasses-and-blades:Glasses-And-Blades 9 0

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Literature
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" Back then, she was this.. This ultimate template, this ghost with her boot on my neck,
But if you asked me now... I'd say, if ever she was my ghost, it was from walking through the minefield first, and if she had her boot to my neck, it was to stop me from stepping where she had stepped."
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Mature content
German :iconndzoodzoo:Ndzoodzoo 3 0
Literature
werewolf masks
       Your car's clock slips quietly into 11:06. The last city police officer on duty yawns across the street, turns on his lights, and pulls onto the two-way out of town. You watch his taillights dip through the valley and disappear at the horizon. 11:07. Next to you, a quick flash as Jacob lights a cigarette, his hands visibly shaking in the sudden light.
       “I told you not to smoke in my car,” you say, edgy with the bubbling of adrenaline.
       “I can't believe we're gonna do this,” Jacob spits the smoke out of the cracked window to appease you. “Ya sure this can't wait? I don' wanna do it anymore.”
       “No, I told him I'd have the money by Wednesday,” you roll the window down and throw his cigarette out. You both watch it bounce across the pavement, throwing embers. “We're doing this whether you want to or not.”
      &
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:iconvvlpes:vvlpes 5 1
Literature
102217
and sometimes i wonder if my mother ever gets tired of holding this house together or holding me up or holding on to people that have only caused her grief / and sometimes i wonder if the reason she keeps me from growing up is because she doesn't want that same life for me
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:iconwepushedangels:WePushedAngels 5 2
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Literature
Pin Cushion
That needle pricking my chest,
Crawling around inside my veins,
That familiar sharpness spilling out through my pores,
Swimming throughout my skin.
The tormenting pricking raising my body's temperature,
Restricting my lungs, wringing my heart,
This tormenting pricking, I can't take much more!
I desperately claw at my skin repetitively:
Scratch my lower back,
Scratch my shoulder,
Scratch between my shoulder blades,
Scratch my neck,
Scratch my scalp,
Scratch my face,
Scratch my back again,
Scratch my chest,
Scratch my stomach,
Scratch my neck again,
Scratch my face again,
Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch,
Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch,
scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch,
scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch,
SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH
SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH
SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH
I can't breathe.... I can't breathe.... I can't breathe....
When will the n
:iconThediamondintherough:Thediamondintherough
:iconthediamondintherough:Thediamondintherough 4 0

Activity


i
My voice is harsh in the quiet of my mind,
I watch you tilt your head back and laugh
and everything suddenly shatters

ii
I count to two and take a shaky breath,
close my eyes when I reach three
and whisper your name in the lie of darkness

iii
The sharpness of glass digs into my tongue,
pick the shards out of your hair
and stand up again,
please,
stand up again

iv
My prayers melt into the red of the sirens,
a bed rolls by
then another
but where's the third?

v
Close the door,
sink to the floor and sing
Pieces of Heartbreak
Sunday, 1 October 2017 (20:29)

This is the most truthful poem I've ever written.
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It's been a while since I've been active here.. it's been more than a while since I've been able to write something. I miss it, I really do.

But life's been cruel. The first few weeks was due to typical flu.

Then on the 13th August 2017 I lost an angel. My boyfriend of three and a half year's mother and two sisters got into a car crash.

She did nothing wrong, a car speeding hit them from behind. His mom survived with a few broken bones and stitches under her eye. She couldn't walk for weeks. Only today was she allowed to take off the moon boot. Physically she's recovered remarkably but a piece of her remains missing.

Darling 12 year old Kaylah got off with a swollen eye and plenty of scrapes, but the trauma she suffered... guys, I'm so worried about her. She'll wear these wounds for the rest of her life. I still remember how she screamed for her sister when she came to in the hospital. It was at that moment when I realised true helplessness. Anything I thought I knew of it before was but a teasing of the real thing. I wanted to wail with her but I couldn't find my voice buried in my tears.

Larissa died on impact. The sweet nine year old that was like my own sister was taken from me. They say she never felt any pain.. it happened so fast, her brain didn't even get the chance to send the signal for pain.

It's been more than a month. Her funeral was yesterday. It was crippling. My heart feels flayed, I can't even imagine how it must be for Tris and his family.

I'm sorry if I upset anyone, I just wanted to let you all know why I disappeared. I'm trying my best to write, but nonetheless, I'll be a bit more active from now on. I missed it here.
Just wanted to let everyone know Im still fine (if you were wondering). Some stuff happened which I'll explain properly later in a journal but I'll be back soon.
I stare at a strip of burning paper
and my heart aches

Like a snowflake
I want to sink into your skin



I want to be the rain
outside your window

And somewhere the sun
melts into the horizon once again



Pastel paint dissolves in turpentine

A candle's flame submits to the wind



And-

Can you hear my whisper in these lines?
I want to disappear

Subtle Confessions
Saturday, 15 July 2017 (09:21)
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Glasses-And-Blades's Profile Picture
Glasses-And-Blades
Carissa
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
South Africa
☆INFP-T || Female || Aquarius || Self-proclaimed poet || Adores Animals || Snake owner || Christian || Afrikaans || To be psychologist || University Student || Bookworm || Art Admirer || Four-eyes || Otaku || Music obsessed (Rock & Metal) || Scared of people || Night sky enthusiast || Bathophobic || Arachnophobic || Achluophobic || Emotional forecast: Rainy || Hopeless Romantic☆

***

Hello, all ^-^ I'm Rissa, born 23 January 1998. Welcome to my profile. My favourite anime is Noragami and favourite colour is purple. I'm currently studying at UFS and my majors are Psychology and Criminology with Sociology as my minor and Communication Science an elective. Please feel free to talk to me about anything, even if it's just you feeling under the weather today. I'll also gladly read some of your work and give my opinion. I apologise in advance if I don't reply on comments and such. I appreciate them to such a degree I find myself unable to express my thanks and I panic in social situations.

..14-02-2014.. - The day my Sweetheart (:icondeath1110111:) asked me to be his beloved. (Obviously, I said yes without hesitation) You'll see a lot of Trissa (Tris + Rissa) poetry on here. I'm currently waiting to be promoted from "Girlfriend" to "Fiancée".

:iconatypicallily: - Meet my best friend, soul sister and fellow rain lover since 2007. She's also a terrific artist and poet so please don't hesitate in visiting her gallery.

***

Comments


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:iconthediamondintherough:
Thediamondintherough Featured By Owner 18 hours ago  Student General Artist
Thank you for the favorite :) I hope you're doing alright and have a great day :heart:
Reply
:iconkitty-kat--89:
Kitty-Kat--89 Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the fav !
Reply
:iconfaewning:
Faewning Featured By Owner Aug 8, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks so much for the fave, dear! :heart:
Reply
:iconzippip:
zippip Featured By Owner Aug 7, 2017
Thank you for the fave!
Reply
:iconfierydownpour479:
FieryDownpour479 Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Hello dear! I apologize, because it was quite some time ago, but thank you kindly for the favorite!
Also, I read just a little bit of what you write, and I think it's very good! Keep it up! :heart:
Reply
:iconseaboundstars:
seaboundstars Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2017
thank you. :rose: :heart:
Reply
:iconalessiah:
Alessiah Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2017   Writer
Thanks for support, doll! Heart 
Reply
:iconglasses-and-blades:
Glasses-And-Blades Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
No problem! ^-^ It's well deserved
Reply
:iconbubbybubbles12:
bubbybubbles12 Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2017   General Artist
Thanks so much for the favorite! I really appreciate it! Have a great day! :)
Reply
:iconglasses-and-blades:
Glasses-And-Blades Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
It's a pleasure! ♡
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