Obsession, The Series

Obsession, the series

Archive #11 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: Here is the abstract and all three poems combined. I personally feel like there is a difference to when you read the poems separately, versus reading it all together in one sitting. Let me know what you think. I actually have a story inspired by these poems, if you are interested in me posting it, let me know! Enjoy :)

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Abstract

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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Obsession

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Woe the building that falls

To seek a soul whose pictured as gold,

makes artless mortals sway. 

The siren theory is embodied as a place— 

that is known for its embrace…

of worship, importune and obsession.

But to pray to who is equivocal… 

they’re merely a god, merely a question.

You can’t treat a person like a church possession—  

the inner walls creak and moan

against the protest and crack of bone. 

Nicknamed Dulia for its glory, 

but it drowns those who try to adore thee. 

The plafond above our heads sing in pressure– 

haunting the thought of being crushed. 

Whilst they cry for their successor,

dust floated towards the exit as if being rushed. 

The sky tends to fall away; 

clouds imitate a chevet. 

The sight itself creates much dismay,

but time is an illusion…

oh, such betray.

But what a church with no heaven?

Sky, empyrean, and the ether

don’t judge a star's demeanour! 

Aperture with glass framework– 

edging feelings with a smirk.

Reflection shows a shining gleam,

but true colour is never seen. 

The sun has a shaded costume 

using the moon as hecatomb.  

It may use perfume as a facade…

but mien flares hearts exerting ballade.

If darkness plummets beneath our feet

may I pray for a deathless greet.

The devotee, 

limp in their extremities, 

served one purpose…and failed.

It drifted into sea like a dead anemone– 

with no avail or memory. 

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Infatuation

Summersweet, white alder, pepper bush— 

wind that blows bouquets away with a swoosh.

A church, the ocean and the utter devotion 

such words that are unremittingly

used and mentioned.

You must be annoyed and sick of the voices

telling you about the, oh so many choices…

that you can take. 

It makes your cliff shake and ache against the currents

you’re trying to break. 

Hundred of shouts turns into a song

while you still can’t get along—

with yourself and the image

that you portray as a sailor, paying primage. 

You can’t love a siren,

moreover cage them in a shrine to admire in. 

They didn’t draw you in with their beauty, 

they were just on death duty.

Artless feelings are sweet and dependent 

until you sneeze and crush flowers gifted, 

not to the loved one but to the church—

a place of worship but for a search…

of pathetic purpose. 

Arson ash that coughs up the lungs

makes heartthrobs hold their tongues. 

It’s been so long since the reminiscence,

but existence with omniscience means that

one can’t help those that don’t want it.

Sailors should save those words for those who admit it. 

Repetition shows a mind not working— 

hiding behind the words of formal glory. 

When the time comes that you consider your fate, 

please stop placing your heart on a plate.

Not everything is worth dying for, therefore

realise this before you bleed even more. 

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Siren's Curse

The feeling stills,

located deep in the heart and

washed away by emotions that don't depart. 

Such betray hasn’t been seen

in years and years, oh it’s been centuries. 

It’s not about creed

nor about faith, 

but why does the siren continue to retaliate? 

They don’t seek will or adoration,

but only sailors' shallow empty emotions. 

Thus, greed is not a problem, 

just a solution with an astrobleme. 

The star-shaped wound within the heart

drowns out singing and works of art. 

They focus on sole possessions, a measly painting

rather than just forever self-changing. 

A place verses a person can be quite the personification

for a future naive adorer’s destination. 

You compare a holy place

with a person that has no proper face.

A sailor counts

and so does a siren,

so don’t you dare postpone your responsibilities by naming it Psyren.

Yet you put them on top, as if an angel 

told you that evil is an archangel.

Connections from siren to god

is a mockery for those that don’t have a facade. 

Love yourself for what it’s worth–

not for the punishment of your birth. 

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Restless Sleep

Archive #5 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: Helloooooo! This one was taken from a pinned discord message between me and my art partner (@v-for-venus) a long time ago. But I kept the structure because I feel like it really embodies it as a whole. Enjoy :)

Restless Sleep

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what happens if the angels carry my sinful soul up to heaven? cupping my soulful heart around their wings straight out of my physical embodiment of a cage? during our time away from each other, while the moon is glistening in the starry inky sky— what if the angels take me to the grey, bitter clouds and beckon on my journey into the afterlife? I can't handle that alone, my love, because I know you will have fluffy, feathered wings that would be strong and delicate, while I will have tainted wings that are too small to uphold my wronged past of sin and regret... how can I sleep when I could be sleeping in your arms, knowing that you are wingless and that I will awake when the next sunlight arises— with you sound asleep beside me?

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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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"I am shakespeare but as a teenage girl" - saturnfairycat

Infatuation

Archive #9 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: SECOND POEM MENTIONED RAHHHH ENJOY

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Infatuation

Summersweet, white alder, pepper bush— 

wind that blows bouquets away with a swoosh.

A church, the ocean and the utter devotion 

such words that are unremittingly

used and mentioned.

You must be annoyed and sick of the voices

telling you about the, oh so many choices…

that you can take. 

It makes your cliff shake and ache against the currents

you’re trying to break. 

Hundred of shouts turns into a song

while you still can’t get along—

with yourself and the image

that you portray as a sailor, paying primage. 

You can’t love a siren,

moreover cage them in a shrine to admire in. 

They didn’t draw you in with their beauty, 

they were just on death duty.

Artless feelings are sweet and dependent 

until you sneeze and crush flowers gifted, 

not to the loved one but to the church—

a place of worship but for a search…

of pathetic purpose. 

Arson ash that coughs up the lungs

makes heartthrobs hold their tongues. 

It’s been so long since the reminiscence,

but existence with omniscience means that

one can’t help those that don’t want it.

Sailors should save those words for those who admit it. 

Repetition shows a mind not working— 

hiding behind the words of formal glory. 

When the time comes that you consider your fate, 

please stop placing your heart on a plate.

Not everything is worth dying for, therefore

realise this before you bleed even more. 

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Unnecessities.

Archive #17 | copyright of saturnfairycat

Author's Note: this is your sign to let go. (enjoy!)

Unnecessities

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Suitcase.

Suitcases.

So much luggage for weak arms to drag, Your shoulders heavy from the weight of the world. Chains and restraints can't stop you from shuffling your feet, Moving forward, pushing through. Dragging the dead weight behind you like pig to the slaughter. More than one suitcase would end up as murder, Blood vessels burst under pressure, But coal crystallize into diamonds.

Forced to move on, Keep moving. Death trials those who are slower, You're moving too fast, They will notice. You appear stronger than others, Would you hold my suitcase, too? Death is at my door, please lift this weight from my flesh.

Luggage.

Unnecessities.

Would you kiss your snow globe goodbye if snow never visited? Summer is not just sea glass and flowers, Your heart can only take so much hayfever. Beat up with floral bruises, Prepared to arson against snowmen. The remembrance of black ice is harder Than recalling the heat waves. Warmth from hugs are lethal. Oh, Poison in these bones.

The need to pause, When is "stop" too late to say? Your lungs burst from the shortness, Your skin flourish from the silence. Death hugs those who suffer, Are you strong enough to decline?

A suitcase of packages from your mind is poison to these bones.

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