Elijah Clark

a small token of kindness [ 01st september, 2025 — monday] 
          
          words plated in heirlooms, heavy with light,
          tinkling cuts, dazzling wounds —
          weaponry forged from childhood gloom,
          wars cradled in a mother’s stolen womb. 
          
          windmills bow above folded clothes,
          grandmother’s peach crumble cooling on the sill.
          cottages lean, tethered with ghosts —
          growth a gamble, memory the wager. 
          
          tender hearts rest in greasy hands,
          coloured proses, begotten rhyme.
          measuring the gaps of fleeting hours,
          tidy rooms against the storm of rest. 
          
          roads of chemicals, an age of hearts,
          souls displaced, refugees of home.
          effervescence rushes, skeletons mist-bound —
          a tale as old as precedents. 
          
          labyrinthine dashes, nuance permitted,
          olives of faith, olives betrayed.
          a marathon — glass slippers sublime —
          and all of life becomes a floor for dancing,
          a garden for incitement,
          a bloom pressed against time. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a token of kindness [ 24th august, 2025 — sunday ] 
          
          where comes the chaos? soar and sin, the culprit,
          from the lodging inns. surrendered and sought,
          beavering, bold— a little of the timid, a lot of the known. 
          
          swinging with pride, doors left unknocked,
          a guest invited under intoxication’s hold.
          forging, jeopardising, guided by homely apple-pie servings; bruised words swept beneath the rug of humility. 
          
          barks and bellows, odours, open wounds,
          entangled chairs and a single creaking move.
          whisper, then wait, tremors that carry
          a mouth of screams— beginning and dying
          in a parched throat. 
          
          kalopsia and kites— a guest like ropeburn,
          pricking like wine. mindful maps, mindless routes,
          sanctuaries like lies that bury the truth.
          shadows stumble, shoes fade—
          a blessing strikes a menace, transforming a paper cut into a prayer. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a token of kindness [ 18th august 2025, monday ] 
          
          "green and gold, bumblebees and blooms, notorious affairs of the innocent homes; half of wounds are entombed in windy trails, while the remaining lie maimed in terraces aged. 
          
          eye and a wisdom tooth, bear and tear, wavelets of death caressing the feeble veil; garbled silences in pictures hung, hung were the joys of the crusted youth. keepsakes assignable, september — a bright shy; one step of risk, one step of ice. 
          
          cliffs and cuts that swallow the shore, earth is an art with its slinky tides and falling feathers; rhythm and rhyme mold the blood, like granules of sand that recognise a home in your skin. 
          
           liquor and tea, a prison and a poison; every scream becomes a rotten whisper. quite a wonder, the heart one carries with pride, the same which injures the soul — punished with suffocation behind clasping ribs, where it beats and beats, severing its rest."
           #adropofhumanity 

Leaving wattpad & unpublishing my books. Not reposting anywhere. 

Just a reminder:
          1. I'm not dead
          2. I publish when I feel like it so I don't stress myself out over writing
          3. I am writing even if I'm not publishing. I have over 30 unpublished books in draft.
          
          Please be nice and don't spam update or ask me if a book is dropped. If it truly is, you will see it in the description or an announcement

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 

a small token of kindness [ 10th july 2023  ] 
          
          mountains and decorators, exhaustion and evil eye; surviving bones and careless finds. funeral floods and tumbling sorrows; forests and bridges of laughters and morals. feelings migrated, clouds and dresses; that which rains does not always bring about harvest. 
          
          clocks of manners, a road of residences; hearts like maples marked along fences. pictures of politeness, smiles like wounds; world a death of another, burial grounds like jasmine blooms. 
          
          mornings of questions, blurred evening attempts; youth of trial and error, life a honeycomb aged. dreams of wounds, dreams like a father's disappointment; storms like swaying birth, storms sometimes like corpses of discipline.  
          
          disassociated honour, ribbed filters; what binds is not glue, rather, mutual respect. eastern wind and crepuscular billows; howling books and silent words. the majesticness of months yet the solemnity of years; to the hearts that wriggle with pain, silence is delicate, thin ice-like elegance. 
           #adropofhumanity 

I don't know what to do. I want to update & write. I want to cook. I want to play games and read. I want to hang out with friends. I even have the time to now, so why am I so tired? It's like I could sleep forever if I wanted to. There's so much I could be doing, yet I'm just sitting here. Sleeping when I can & hiding in the stories I read when I'm awake. Maybe I just have trouble acknowledging reality? I have more books in draft than I do published & more published than I actually like. I think it's a little extreme to call it writers block now. 

Hey, I started an interactive story to try to get past writers block. Go over & check it out. Your stories await!

Good night. I'll check some time tomorrow about the post below. Feel free to pm me any responses for a quicker reply.