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Do you publish on Neobook ?
procastinators
adropofhumanity
a token of kindness [ 18th july 2023 ]
insecure poems, confident aches; inspired decades yet everyday a death. stretching silences, concrete words; homes that melt and walls that echo. floating feet, rotten flowers; waves that pause in an ocean that seamlessly flows.
fluttering thoughts, fiddling feelings; coloured mouths and disappearing promises. hibernating lights and travelling darknesses; lingering lilacs and luminescent shadows.
minds of pearls, mouths of venom; do not lose by playing to their strengths. corridors of history, weaponsied love; transient nor malleable. fragile loneliness, screaming insecurities; not every sunset has to be colourful.
sun of rain, thunders of frustration; mornings like amnesia, cloudless burdens. midday pride, repentance heavy; grief stricken victories, blackbird joys. mansions of footsteps, tears of dreams; we are all graves carrying the dying spark of life in us.
#adropofhumanity
procastinators
by taking her hand blue takes a last-ditch act of desperation, throws caution to the wind, becomes the fool jingling hither. esme had a talent for seeing these things. for seeing the town as it was: the ghost-quiet suburbs, haunted by phantoms of what could have been.
blue said, "it doesn't have to be this way."
hecate couldn't have said it better. "it already is," esme said, looking up, and — in a rare act of kindness — the moon hid in shame.
procastinators
to everyone who had the displeasure of seeing my salty af comments on wattpad pjo fics i would like to apologize profusely i really thought i slayed then
but most of those comments were rude and probably hurt authors' feelings/ruined some readers' experiences. so again, i'm so sorry
adropofhumanity
a small token of kindness [ 20th february 2023 ]
blistering hope and disrupted forces, stomach of dirt and howling cresses; scraping blossoms and sunken springs. hollowed harvests, assaulted reaps; jeopardised desires and slivering skies.
mismatched woods and stolen petals; metaphorical gentleness and articulated coherence. dripping hearts, compendium ashes; ornate gale, weathered pages.
vintage eyes and handwritten libraries, fictional moon and escaped fantasies. inspiring nostalgia, doubtful guqin; poisonous inquiry, burial of heaven. vulnerability guarded, vindictive portraits; a monster of human needs, a devil of emotions.
brush-wood sprains and sinister autumns; stubborn walls and bittersweet burns. fluid memories, flamed nerves; familiar souvenirs, a winter fued. a sadness of sharpness, bitter home in throat; caress the storms just as sadness has caressed tired norms.
#adropofhumanity
adropofhumanity
a small token of kindness [ 28th january 2023 ]
heart that loves waters of wrinkles, a grave that loves a man of death and bones; years of cold and hours of a backyard mirrors. floods of decades, hormones of violence; peace of unfamiliarity, an autumn of heart ache.
a jam of blue as a fight of love, a poet centuries old lurking in the present; lemons and neighbours, peaches and lungs. sins sacred before mercy, broken palms and roads of birth; sunset embroidered with veins, years fossilised with ricochet pain.
frosted letters, casual accents; love of bruised knuckles, a sip of sacred venoms. fingers of declaration, windshield dust; a lump of liability, a suffocated drink of laughter. an island where a soul sinks, oceans where the bodies bath; a thread of silk that cuts like glass.
evaporated pressure, fiery torrents; soul frozen and waltz of wakefulness. meadow of dawn, a canopy of a pleaide; frothing yearns and rippling reasons. death so close, yet addressed as cold; not every flower can be sweet, not every good heart can have enough honey.
#adropofhumanity
procastinators
hello i found a wip of mine from 2022 and
procastinators
it would be easier, formulating an objective answer — an hour. two. it would be better if she thinks like esme usually does—par with her ruthless efficiency, how she pushes out card tricks at the drop of a hat.
but here's the thing: she doesn't think. she cannot think. she doesn't think of the burnt flowers she'd kept pulling from the windowsill. she doesn't think of the midnight sprints that turned into morning ones, and afternoon ones, and then a once-twice-thrice disappearing act. she doesn't think of the blood she uses to spell out her pain in the asphalt.
procastinators
She stands there, shock-still and numb, her thoughts racing a mile too fast for her deteriorating brain, and something in her cracks into a million shattered pieces and her hands are adorned with too-heavy chains and she can't do anything about it.
He's alive, is what Nero had said. He's alive, he's alive, he's alive.
And Esme feels. This is what being backed into a corner feels like, she tells herself, like it's a comfort, like rationalising the entire situation would solve this puzzle, would bring her off the edge. This is what it feels like to be cheated.
It's too much. It's too much.
She remembers Naomi that one autumn night, after Will went missing. She remembers the stifled sobs, the shuddering breaths. She remembers the rambles and the too cold hands and the off-kilter promise that she'd do better.
She pulls at her dishevelled hair, the shackles dragging across the floor, and screams.
adropofhumanity
a small token of kindness ( 21st january 2023 )
bruised october, champagne bread; weeping permissions and tightened braids. a mother of brass, windows of pages; ebbs of midnight, divided miseries.
copper sprain, malachite oxygen; birds of meetings, broken silences. venn of the woods, the wind and the windpipe; foreign vowels, submerged wrinkles. wet crayons, scents of blue; crisp metaphors and pigeon hues.
palms of desserts, midnight sober; fire that slips, a womb of sonnets. lemonade poems, an annihilating waist; casual grave, a whisper of conclusions. a poet of confessions, a sky of sin; sacred rain, storm antique.
blurry opals and cigarette soliloquies; swaying septum and a bouquet of tattood ribs. spine of butter, vinegar patio; breastbone shelter, cronus love. white doorstep, a welcome ghost; trees forget leaves, winter shrinks bones.
#adropofhumanity
adropofhumanity
a small token of kindness (15th january 2023)
late afternoon intoxications, silver bruises of the lake; half alive lilies and coquelicot verses. swimming decembers and stiff legged waters, crimson sounds and rain of sunflowers. sleep a candle, a shiver of cold winter; a demon merely sleeps to haunt an angel.
bellies of ocean, onomatopoeia based; bread like canine, haunting kestrel. spirits of terracottas, moulded with eruptions; lune of earth, scabbed with praise. residue of potency, river rock artichokes; penalty like quartz, merciless joy.
words of water, rituals of heart; primrose like feet, convenants of coneflower. woman of sandalwood, blood thinner than fluid; cushion and confusion an imploding reflections. banishing whispers, solitary shrouds; beaded intonations, burdened sabbath.
exigent rule of rhythm, an autumn womb; ancient pupils, latticed spirit. camellia hair, noor of protection; cardamom poems, smile of earth. sweet blues, a grapefruit toppled; strangers known, friends estranged.
poised separation, a moon of a thousand partings; a twilight of veiling curls, afternoon crescent. confessions tasteless, dawn like wine; passing heavens, inwoven visage. some spines unending, nay, starless and bitter like tender hope. the sky cries, the earth is blinded by its tears; when one cries the other hears.
#adropofhumanity
procastinators
"you want me?"
THEYVE BEEN WANTING YOU FOR SIX HUNDRED FCKIN PAGES
MyUnladylikeSmile
@procastinators yesssirrrr slow burn can be them accepting the fact that they're loved... Cuddles are always welcome anytime ayo (〒﹏〒)
procastinators
@MyUnladylikeSmile if it must be a slowburn they should at least be a little subconsciously aware of the other's feelings plsplspls