A comfy corner on a fluffy pillowed couch; books at your disposal while your cat purrs next to your woolly socks— it is winter, and you are in your element as you drink hot cocoa. The fireplace blares as its warmth cradles you tightly— you are safe here.
46 posts
Abstract | Obsession
Abstract | Obsession
Archive #7 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: Hey, so I have a set of three poems that are interlinked and summarised into this abstract. Now here is the question, do I post all three poems separately, or all together? You tell me! Enjoy :)
Obsession, the Abstract
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When one compares their dependency on an item or being with an unhealthy tendency to forget the importance of being their own person. A siren is known for the obsession she produces just from singing; while a place of holiness can be known for saving those that have no other place to go. Obsession and adoration are two separate things, but sometimes the siren can be merely adored… while the building is seen as a cult designed for obsession. The comparison of the siren and church to the human's dependent heart is a wake up call for those who allow themselves to serve no other purpose than living in someone else’s life.
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More Posts from Saturnfairycat
The Bathroom
Archive #2 | Copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: Day two of posting pieces that I really like. This one is a bit more dark so slight trigger warning (?) to easily sensitive people. Let me know if you like it! Suggestions and feedback is welcome, enjoy :)
The Bathroom
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Dark and hideous,
I stare at my reflection, blurry from steam.
My shower, cold droplets on glass— I tried drowning my sorrow for hours.
The shadows that grasp at my skin drag me back down from my high—
The pleasure that lingers on my lips,
Tongue numb from the biting of my stained teeth.
Lips cracked and blue;
I do not recognise those who have seen me.
Resentment is the familiarity I cling onto—
The smell of gore bores into my mind like a surgical drill.
If you wish to mush my brain, it will take more than one pill to convince me.
Betrayal and words;
I will stab my eyes out.
Pickled for your cocktails;
Watch your back as you swallow me whole.
I am mute, silenced by mistakes,
I see their pain, damned for their torment.
Blind and tears.
Do you regret?
Do you regret?
Do you regret?
I know,
I know…
I know.
Everyone knows.
I will take this to my grave,
But you will use it to your advantage in heaven.
When it comes the day—
Where I crash into the walls I hastily built up,
My defences crash as you stand by and watch.
Will you penetrate such a fragile structure?
Vulnerability is a sought out weakness from those who grew out of it.
Endings and virtue;
I will end this on my own terms.
But I ended the wrong thing—
Tumbling and spiralling;
I will see you in hell.
I scream as you floated,
What goes around comes around….
I was never a part of this equation.
You cheated from the beginning,
Your reflection must be hideous.
But the steam is blinding,
And the dust clings onto skin.
The pleasure was hidden burns.
I am resentment, that familiarity that cannot be described.
You choke on the dark olives in your drink,
Saw heaven for a second, but the screaming drags you back up from your low.
Did you picture my brain on your platter?
Your pain is my torment;
I do not recognise the shadows, the madman that slams into the shower door.
My walls shake,
Cold droplets down the drain.
Will you regret?
I stare at your tears, whispers come from my silent, blue lips…
Hollow eyes stare back.
You will regret it.
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Fairy Salt
Archive #14 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: Bonjour, first poem from the Star cluster of pasque flower series is here! Enjoy :)
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Fairy Salt
Meadows, ponds, butterflies and all
The jealousy, envy towards a thrall.
To have dreams with one can break walls.
Saturn has one too many rings to fall
Out of line, out of sight.
Hail storms help those to recall
The attic, the dust, that was used to stall.
Oh, hail one that dares to crawl
Out of sight, out of mind.
Sunflowers, tulips, roses and all,
The fairy that withdraws the pall.
A spiteful befall.
Ocean waves, known to leman,
The echoing within a shell hidden under damp sand.
Floating in space, drifting on wood.
Isolation, fear,
Scent of salt and rotten pier.
A story told by sailors and elves alike,
A history, a history to dislike.
An entombment used to engulf the rage,
A minor death, left to drown and age.
One can remember some
While one can remember all.
But she– the one who dares to question,
Argue against her majesty, his bride,
Remembers all.
As it was she,
Who died.
The attic, the castle,
The meadow and the sea–
Something that one tends to forget because no one is free.
Do you see her soul?
Do you see the fairy fly?
Or have you forgotten
That night–
When the flowers started to die.
Wither, winter, spring and grow,
The elves dancing– prancing for gold.
But one elf does not twirl or beg,
They are meant for the flower bed.
Lying and crying,
Mourning and laughing.
The smell of salt and sound of hail,
Oh, please don’t forget the veil.
Flowers,
The honey, the comb.
Iris, Peony, and Manuka are thrown
Not at her tomb stone, no.
But at the majesty’s, the lord,
And no one below.
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"Ambition too high for a body so small" - saturnfairycat 2024
Star clusters of pasque flowers, the series
Archive #17 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: and here we are - the whole series in one post. Let me know if you like this! Enjoy :)))
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Star clusters of pasque flowers
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Fairy Salt
Meadows, ponds, butterflies and all
The jealousy, envy towards a thrall.
To have dreams with one can break walls.
Saturn has one too many rings to fall
Out of line, out of sight.
Hail storms help those to recall
The attic, the dust, that was used to stall.
Oh, hail one that dares to crawl
Out of sight, out of mind.
Sunflowers, tulips, roses and all,
The fairy that withdraws the pall.
A spiteful befall.
Ocean waves, known to leman,
The echoing within a shell hidden under damp sand.
Floating in space, drifting on wood.
Isolation, fear,
Scent of salt and rotten pier.
A story told by sailors and elves alike,
A history, a history to dislike.
An entombment used to engulf the rage,
A minor death, left to drown and age.
One can remember some
While one can remember all.
But she– the one who dares to question,
Argue against her majesty, his bride,
Remembers all.
As it was she,
Who died.
The attic, the castle,
The meadow and the sea–
Something that one tends to forget because no one is free.
Do you see her soul?
Do you see the fairy fly?
Or have you forgotten
That night–
When the flowers started to die.
Wither, winter, spring and grow,
The elves dancing– prancing for gold.
But one elf does not twirl or beg,
They are meant for the flower bed.
Lying and crying,
Mourning and laughing.
The smell of salt and sound of hail,
Oh, please don’t forget the veil.
Flowers,
The honey, the comb.
Iris, Peony, and Manuka are thrown
Not at her tomb stone, no.
But at the majesty’s, the lord,
And no one below.
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In truth
The Queen’s light-hearted winter.
Cold, bitter,
We always knew he was a quitter.
The heavens, the uranian,
Look at the new Heather!
Romanticists broach vastly
To a new moon.
The witless prince thought he could swoon?
Ha.
Praise the rise of the skies,
Praise the rise of the star clusters.
My heart, oh my,
To see someone’s whole life in a night’s sky.
The yearn, the mourn, the emptiness,
For something that wasn’t even there.
A new moon, or a new dark age?
The Queen’s dark spring,
Pasque flowers and lilies of valleys.
Worshipping a wedding ring,
Bewailing a regrettable demise.
From dawn to nightfall,
From love to loathe.
An oath meant to be broken.
Flatter thy, satisfy he
Who dares question the crown.
Hate, hate.
Ball gowns and wedding cake.
How can one forget
The Heather, heaven, heathen?
I’m not one to shiver and click
When one thought they were slick.
Who thought a royal like me could see a fallen crown?
I can be sincere,
I don’t need the roses to be red.
Just listen to me
And there won’t be bloodshed.
Who dares to question the crown?
Who dares to question me?
Pasque flowers and lilies does not mean you’re free.
She had to die,
The skies were aligned.
The new moon is my oath
And it will not break.
Which they seem to not understand…
I’m always awake.
Oh, welcome the new dark age.
Oh, welcome the new cage.
Pixies and fairies does not belong to me
But what’s the point of trying to flee?
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A human in a mushroom house
A funeral for someone who dares to question power,
a shadow obligated to cower.
A love towards another could be a one way stream,
while the amour propre of the other could be dead scream–
a sleeping lake.
When will my Inamorato wake?
When will fairies start singing for thy
Instead for the Queen?
Oh, her majesty, the Queen,
What a joke, what a pity!
Nothing seems to make them witty,
Their own Queen died, not from poison.
Pixie dust doesn’t fix everything, does it?
His love, his bride.
A fairy that reminded him of the clouds
Who kissed the sun in a hush lullaby.
As the moon, red as blood can be,
Replaced it at night.
The Queen was replaced, yes!
By a human, no less.
A minor death, left to rot…
As the human queen, was never caught.
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Refuge
Archive #3 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: Hiya! Short one today, I have been meaning to try and write more concisely in my essays... because, well, the whole ordeal of "less is more". So I thought that also applies to writing, so, here we are!
Refuge
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God forbid I write about happiness.
For I find comfort in suffering, like an old friend that I know I can always rely on.
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