Old Times’ Sake.

If you must act so insolently

Just because my blue skies

Are now grey thunderstorms

You cannot bear the sound of,

Please continue,

Only remember that even today,

If you were to hand me a cup of poison,

I would gladly drink it for old times’ sake.

Painting: “Sophonisba Receiving the Poisoned Cup” by Rembrandt.


Lately, I’ve noticed happiness creeping in,
I’m always too busy laughing to confront it,
To ask
Where it had been for the past few years,
Where it was when I needed it the most,
But suddenly, it is there
And its presence hits me in the face
In the middle of a laugh,
So hard that it takes me a minute or two,
To breath normally again.
It fills me up from the inside,
And I realize
I am content,
I am happy,
And when I say I’m fine,
For once,

I really mean it.

I Will Not Apologize.

The sun apologizing for burning too bright,
It has never been heard of;
The moon apologizing for days when it must hide away,
It has never been heard of;
The stars apologizing for their incessant twinkling,
It has never been heard of;
The clouds apologizing for veiling the sky’s blue with their cottony embrace,
It has never been heard of;
The mountains apologizing for marring the earth with their magnificence,
It has never been heard of;
The sea apologizing for churning too chaotically;
It has never been heard of;
Why then, my dear,
Must I apologize
For burning as bright as the sun,
And then hiding away like the moon,
For eyes that twinkle like the stars,
But are veiled the very next moment,
For standing tall and magnificent,
With tornadoes raging inside me,
Why must I apologize for my greatness,
When I was born with universes inside of me,
Bursting to be let out?
And if it is too much for you to take in,
I will not apologize for being who I am,
You can go waste your time away
You can go
Find another puppet.

Image taken from here.

Heart’s Crease.

Coffee left in freezer
For way too long
Drunk in a single gulp
Brain freeze, brain freeze.

Eyes swollen,
I was crying too long
Chafed skin tinged with red,
Cold breeze, cold breeze.

Melancholic melodies,
They’ve been playing for too long,
Swathing the room in gentle caresses
Heart’s crease, heart’s crease.

Image taken from here.

Dancing With Devils.

I needed you more than you ever thought I did, but my love, would knowing ever have made a difference in how you pushed me to the side? Would it have reduced the miles between us?

Or would it have made you proud to see me going on as if you never meant a thing?

These days go by in a haze, and heaven is a place on earth without you, my dear, but I always cared more for fallen angels, remember?

I smile at trees and giggle at cars passing by the roads I walk, lost in the past and uncaring of the present, I dive into daydreams of nostalgia headfirst, giving in to the temptation of listening to you laugh one more time even if it’s all just in my head; how could I not, when it’s all I have left of you now, bits and pieces of rusty memories? Yes, I’ve been living in the past for too long now, but how could I not, when that’s where all my favorite people are, where you are, and all our memories are?

See, you’re not the devil, because he’s the one I’m dancing with, and it might be that all he wants is my soul but at least he has the charm to act like he cares. All you wanted was to rip me apart, and you didn’t even bother trying to hide it, you were so consumed by trying to prove me wrong when I said I saw something good left in you.

So why is it that I’d rather it was you dancing me towards hell?

Thin Line Of Difference.

There is but
A thin line of difference,
Between love
And hate,
Between being fine
And being alright,
Between wanting you
And needing your comfort tonight,
Between sadness
And melancholy,
Between hurt
And anger,
Between being pushed away,
And disappearing forever.
The point, my love, is
There is but
A subtle difference between all these
And if you’re not too careful,
You might have
An unwanted outcome
On your hands.

Dumb Charades.

I wonder darling, some days when you sit beside me as we continue this charade of ours, do you hear my jaws as they grind together hard enough to resemble rusty machinery that cannot be made to function again, no matter how much oil is poured into its ancient joints? Do you look at me from the side of your eye, and see a statue of hollow stone, and can you hear my heart as it beats against its stone prison as hard as ever, begging to be let free? Can you see how the thorns stick into my bloody back from these thrones of ours? Do you feel the heat of the flames that lap at my feet, threatening to melt this girl of ice and snow, or do you admire how they reflect in my black eyes instead?
Do you even see the blood as it drips from where my nails have cut into my palms too deep, do you notice the crimson stains as they grow slowly on the arms of these seats that provide no rest in all their glory?
You used to say you could hear my words before they even left my mouth, but these days, why can’t you feel my screams as they rise from my gut, only to die in my throat?

I wish I had known before, ruling in hell isn’t all it is made out to be.

The Difference Between Saying And Believing.

The worst part about missing you isn’t when I spend all night tossing and turning because your voice is getting hazy now, or when I come across our pictures that I haven’t had the courage to delete yet, it’s when I throw my head down in the middle of class because my eyes are suddenly filled again and my head is hurting, my heart is hurting, and I cannot care what the uses of bleach are because it feels like I’ve been swallowing mouthfuls of it all day when in fact, it was just the boy sitting across from me who twirled his pencil in his hands like you used to.

It’s when I see you in strangers and suddenly I’m a wreck and it’s when I can’t seem to swallow because the words I never yelled as you walked away are still stuck in the lump between my mouth and my heart and they’re in my windpipe now choking me and my mother is looking at me with worry but I can see the pity hidden behind it too as I puke my guts out because the hole in my middle just keeps getting bigger and bigger and some days I can’t even form a proper sentence because all my words come out jumbled and between every word is a you, hidden and twisted like every lie and unanswered question.

The worst part of missing you is the fact that I hate myself for it because you were the one who left me here and I should be forgetting you and lord, I feel so stupid because you probably haven’t even thought about me in past two months maybe but I’m still here hung up on words I didn’t say and god I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, and maybe if I repeat it enough I will start to believe it too.

What A Joke Does.

U-N-W-A-N-T-E-D, it is eight letters, and they spear through the air to go smashing past my eardrums, its razor edges slicing up my auditory nerve, filling me up with a pain I cannot comprehend before I can even register the word. It bumps over the walls of my brain, with razor edges cutting into them as I picture the word, all eight letters in red caps, UNWANTED, and it flashes at me sinisterly for a second before it is tumbling again, and now it is smarting my eyes and its edges are pricking into my the back of my eyes mercilessly as I get up and run from the room, my tears start pouring out like water from a burst dam just as I reach the door and it is already in my throat now with strangled noises leaving my voicebox as these eight foreign letters bump into it, now it slices down my throat and it is in my heart, and it is the beat of my heart and the sound my knuckes are making as they smash against the wall, unwanted, unwanted, UNWANTED, and now it is in my stomach, and it burns like acid reflux and cuts open my guts like a merciless butcher and my legs shake as the eight letters travel down them before going into my blood stream, and that is what my blood hums now, UNWANTED, UNWANTED, UNWANTED, it sinks into my bones, they soak it up like a sponge and I sink to the ground like an anchor does into the ocean floor, I cannot get back up; these eight letters pull me down and hold me there, and ten minutes after my mother comes into my room to tell me she’s sorry, and that it was a joke, I still sit there muffling my screams; I can only see everyone that ever left and these eight letters flash up in red caps after every face.

This is why I fear the water, this is why I cannot swim: all the ‘jokes’ they’ve ever made would push me down to the bottom of the sea and hold me there until I drown.

Magazine /New Beginnings

Our first issue is out, so please please go check it out, we’ve put so much effort into this and it’d make me so happy. Also TELL US WHAT YOU THINK. PLEASE.
P.S. Hats off to Jerrod for all his hard work. You’ve done amazing!

The Artistics

Hello, hello, hello!june july cover

It’s here! IT’S HERE! The first ever magazine issue of The Artisitcs is here! The theme for our magazine issue is “New Beginnings”. Why? Well, you’ll find out! Here’s the content of the issue:

  • A recipe of Virgin Pina Colada
  • Poems that will inspire you
  • A portfolio of photographs taken by the team’s awesome photographers
  • A comics about a young man and his fresh start
  • The team’s list of guilty pleasure!

You can view the whole magazine at issuu by clicking HERE! We, the Artistics team, hope you’ll love our first ever magazine issue. We put a lot of effort to make this issue! Also, your feedback is always appreciated so send them by email: theartisticstaff@gmail.com!

As we made a lot of effort into this, unauthorized distribution is not allowed. If there are any problems with the issue, tell us so!

Goodbye and enjoy reading our…

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