ripped pages of the book scattered around the cold marble surface of the underworld. famished souls screamed my name together with my thorned anguish and agony. oh, ferryman! let me ride the boat for i want to get drowned with the scrapheap of human's misery. oh, my lord hades! toss me in the pit of tartarus. made me kneel, hold my hair and force me to drink the wine from the river of lethe, so that i could forget my existence and knowledge from my past life. i promise, i shan't seek mnemosyne to cure and flood back my worthless excruciating memories. those aren't worth it to remember, after all. not worth it to feel and hear.
in the back of my head, i'll remember how i intentionally banged my head in the wall when the spirits of the dead i summoned starts chanting spells and showing me fucking symbols i cannot comprehend.
wanna hear it? better not!
wanna feel it? better not!
the feeling when a goddess named khione raised her hand to create an ice pick full of agonizing words that pricked through your heart tightly and deeply. even to your whole being. destroyed.
i was wrong thinking i below up there, not even in-between. heaven and earth, clouds and trees, rain drops and soils, i do not belong to a place full of humans and angels. full of hypocrites and saints.
i belong down there. where i need to pay for all my sins.
YOU ARE READING
Epistles for my thorned metaphors
PoetryCompilations of my proses and poems. Feel free to read.
