u/Seven-Valentines

тнєяє αяє ηιgнтѕ ωнєη тнє ωσℓνєѕ αяє ѕιℓєηт αη∂ σηℓу тнє мσση нσωℓѕ;
тнє ρα¢к gσєѕ ѕιℓєηт ωнєη ѕєℓєηє'ѕ ѕωαℓℓσωє∂ ву єαятн'ѕ נσωℓѕ.
ωнєη ℓυηα ѕ¢яєαмѕ ιη ¢яιмѕση тнєу ѕтσρ тσ ℓιѕтєη,
вσω αη∂ ¢σ¢к тнєιя нєα∂ѕ, αη∂ ѕσαк ιη тнє νιѕιση.

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚕𝚘, 𝚠𝚑𝚘'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚜?
𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜
𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚋𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚓𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚢'𝚜 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚒𝚕?

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘭,
𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘭—
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘭.

įղʂօմçìąղէ, էհҽ Ӏօղҽ աօӀƒ հօաӀʂ ą հąքքվ էմղҽ
Ɱօօղìղց օѵҽɾ հìʂ ʍմʂҽ, ʂաօօղìղց Ӏìҟҽ ą Ӏօօղ
Ⱥ ժąղçìղց ƒօօӀ, ą ҍօմղçìղց ҍմƒƒօօղ
ටհ հօա ʂհҽ ʍąҟҽʂ հìʍ çɾօօղ!
Ⱥղժ ղօա հҽ'ʂ օѵҽɾ էհҽ ʍօօղ
Ƒօɾ հҽɾ ҍӀմʂհìղց քɾօѵҽʂ ʂհҽ Ӏօѵҽʂ հìʍ էօօ

Pity the poet with no wit for his open corpus of opuses half-writ and not an ounce of shit to show for it. Uncap your telescope lens, friends, and try to descry the solitary scribe scribbling silly nonsense, describing fonts and fountain pens esconced in his obelisk on the mountain. Will the audience catch his comment about pointless content written with a blunt pen and invisible ink in the margin?

Sigh, what's this guy, another trite essay on the rise of AI, wanting to die, and nihilism? Plz don't quote him on his quixotic schizo schism shitpost; at most the writer's a raving lunatic with bipolar depression and a heavy doe-see-dough of the 'tism, doncha know?

While the irreverent revenant pens pointless poems in his prison, the will-o'-the-wisps below bellow in unison, "Lo, the dead corpse of the edge lord is risen—hallelujah, amen!" As he lifts the lid and exits his crypt to pace aimlessly among the living room, he goes to scratch his chin and realizes something's off. While he stomps about pondering his predicament, the cryptids of the forest and walkers of the valley dance to the rhythm of his missing head. The seekers and lurkers merrily make pilgrimage up the perilous mount, blowing elk horns and beating drums built from the skin of the dead horse he's ridden all the way to its eminence. The crowd bows and prostrates themselves before the tower's massive oak door, while the celebrant ceremoniously knocks six times. He pauses for a response. Amidst the silence he goes to rap once more, when a low, rumbling voice replies, "No one's home." "We know!" the celebrant excitedly cries. After a spell, the disembodied voice inquires, "Then why are you here? What's the point?"

Inspired by Alli's piano rendition of Iris, I thought I'd share this. Metal can be off-putting to a lot of folks, but there's a beauty to it that is often missed. And there's nothing like a good piano version to bring that out \m/ 🎹

Always wearing shades
I have to watch your mouth
Learning to lip read
I watch yours tremble
Scanning as you babble
I keep my upper stiff
But my lower lip drops

Slack-jawed dying for you to shut up and let me smooch you

To sing and bite your incessant word-maker

To hold your pretty beak still betwixt my sun-bleached teeth and get sloppy

Talk all you want, whatever you say sounds like foreplay

Let the silence smack of mwuhs, gasps for air, and muted primal moaning

An appetizer before the main course, something savory and spicy, finished with the sweetest deserts

I’d die to dine on and devour you, as you tear me apart too

Wherefore wait for a dessert island, I’d strand myself wherever just to get the chance to cannibalize you while you eat my brain too, kuruwu

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Consensually, of course, and yet I wonder what you’re thinking in that one-way mirror

It’d be awkward if our glasses knocked into each other

>Do you mind if I take these off?
Would you mind…?

Love a lucky four but I’d like to see your three eyes more. I promise I’ll keep mine closed while we make out, though I might peep just to get a glimpse of you from time to time, and hope to see the mind behind that rare and rarely seen pair of eyes. 

I’d sacrifice an eye or at least wear a patch to lick your teeth and shove my tongue down your throat. I'd clean your mouth out so thoroughly all five dentists would agree.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

My ears orgasm simply hearing you chirp. The words don’t matter, it’s the rhyme. You always say it’s not the right time but I’m stuck in the future with you fantasizing about some imagined present-and-past. 

To watch your lips move in so many ways—

I wish I could watch your hips do the same. 

But we’re in public right now, and I think that’d be a bit too much PDA even for the city PD. 

If cannibalism’s a crime, I don’t know what love is…

~~~~~~~ : : * : : ~~~~~~~

But I couldn’t lose you, so I wouldn’t chomp too hard. I’d only take a chunk of your flesh if it meant we could be together forever. 

But as ever I’m getting ahead of myself. For now I’d settle for a simple, gentle kiss, however awkward and peckish 💋

There have been days it’s felt the entire world’s stopped for us
And others where the word revolves around us
And yet others where the world has blown up and fallen apart over us

So many ups and downs, lefts and rights, slowing down and speeding up, and occasionally coasting in some shared orbit with you. I’d like to float in a Lagrange point with you forever. Kween & Qing of our own world, one of the first permanent space hab residents of New Earth—a spot off world from which we can take in and admire Gaia in her beauty, and feel connected to and from her through that elevated perspective despite being apart. 

And yet, it seems we’re always apart instead of homesteading. As if the whole world conspires against us. Here I’m envisioning our union solving global peace, and everyone acts like it’d end in nuclear winter.

As much as I’m in love with you and hold faith in our epic future—I try to stay grounded and admit I doubt it’ll do either, in reality. But I think it could make us better people. And I think we’d be better able to help others, and they can help yet more others get better. And through these chain events achieve the twin transcendent goals of global prosperity and personal peace and contentment. I envision a more harmonious future with you—for us and all the rest. I dream of it every day and night. 

I understand how it feels to be absent even in person, and accept there will always be some technical epsilon betwixt due to our closed manifolds. Somehow I feel you in absentia, but I dream of the day the dearth goes away—when we no longer feel our glasses are unfilled and separate. For the clouds to clear and noise to disappear. To finally take a breath from dancing and stand still with you in my arms, feeling my beating heart, and matching its rhythm. 

Oh how I yearn
to be all and every
to suit You in your entirety,
my monolithic muse.

Would that I could
ever be enough
to be the answer
in every version
of your multiverse.

You say,
"Somebody can't be for everyone,
and everybody can't be for someone",
and yet I wish
to be every some one
for every some you.

I pray someday
I might sum sufficiently
to outshine all the stars
in your galaxy.

Oh how I strive
to be the missing piece
in the patch of each eye's sky,
to be the constant point of return
from each corner of your mind,
to satisfy and gratify
all alternatives at your altar.

Forever chasing your horizon
I weave through dimensions
collecting hats, glasses, and mustaches
while sloughing skin and silk
on the path to pot of gold
at your rainbow's end.

Traversing your expanse
I grow colossal
gathering heavenly bodies
by my tidal gravity
to finally become
Everyone for all of You.

A portrait of pieces, a shattered mirror
Contorted secrets, grey matter smearer

His heart a horcrux, her psyche phylacter
One petrified, the other fractured

His eyes come alive when she talks
Her soul's a box his love unlocks

A torch split in two by hateful hawks
Each flame chained to separate rocks

Each part a puzzle missing a piece
That only their perfect union completes

Seven shards across seven seas
Seven wonders with seven keys

All the king's horses and all the queen's men
Scour the earth to put them together again

The shortest path to love is an empath
I’m not sure there’s another, in fact

The love I need is the one I bleed:
Not some vampire who feeds and leaves,
But One who cleans and bandages tenderly,
Who lifts you up and kisses a scuffed knee

All my life I’ve sought to grasp
The meaning of love but failed the class
So long divided I’ve tried to do the maths
Fighting logic trying to reform psychopaths

But the line is clear from you to me
True love requires empathy
Two hearts that feel each other’s beat
Both minds bonded in a shared reality

I sat down this eve to ask ChatGPT
to write a piece on the audacity of your mendacity,
to tell the void how you attracted me—
how your velvet tongue captured me. 

Perhaps AI'd generate a piece you'd rather read,
some romantic slop for the gallery,
another cog of the concentrated animal feed
operation run by the hash tag IT family.

But I worry it would unnaturally
keep you stuck in stock fantasy
locked inside insanity
instead of in reality.

You efface the truth and hide your face, forever absentee;
I try to chase yet you always slip past me,
leaving me to gasp for air and grab a seat
clutching my heart bleating out for the travesty.

I'm forever falling for the traps you leave,
but the artifice of the con is anathema to my artistry;
I may make a mark though I'm no pawn in your tapestry,
but a line drawn where the shore meets the sea.

And yet I dive in headfirst passionately,
attempting to swim in your sophistry,
hoping to stave off tragedy
by penning amatory rhapsody.

I sing your praises lavishly,
for your entire being is ravishing,
but the constant distance is maddening,
so I pray for contact without a screen.

When I was little I'd look up to the ceiling from my bed to see fluorescent stars and crescents shine neon lime light down from the heavens. Like Polaris, these UV candles guided the way at night to a weary traveller afraid of the dark. They were a reminder I wasn't alone in the abyss, plus just enough photons to help me get to the bathroom without tripping.

I miss those artificial nightlights, but as I've gotten older I've come to love seeing real ones above my head when life and weather permit. While a roof is a blessing, at times it can feel like a prison. Nothing quite like spending time in the wilderness to remind us of the cages we've constructed. And there's nothing like seeing those trillions of torches tearing across the firmament to provide perspective on existence. Like beacons on a vaulted stage, they welcome weary eyes minds to dream, and eyes to squint. They soften the terror of terrible night, cosmic characters telling bedtime tales of universal grandeur. Unimaginably massive mnemonics of our shared heritage. 

I was never scared of the dark because I was worried some unseen force would get me; I was scared of being alone. Those photonic pixels brought hope. I like background noise for a similar reason. An unstimulated mind can travel to shady starless places, and my nightmares were so unbearably fearsome I had to independently discover meditation and lucid dreaming to tackle slumber.

It's hard to retire the soul when one feels so cold, lightyears-long distance away from another celestial body, without the warmth of a core to bring you ashore to the sandman's shifting desert. Now even natural gaseous stars provide cold comfort, for I yearn for something more solid, and realer still. There's only one constellation I want above me in bed anymore: my eternal bugbear and heavenly wagon ride, with a galactic mind so vast it outshines the Milky Way, putting the competition to bed. As a boy, before bed I used to repeat self-made mantras in my head, praying for pleasant dreams and to wake up safe in the morning, wishing the whole wide world that very same peaceful fate. But now as I nod off I pray to the gods the two of us will combine to form a local group, collapsing together under the weight of our magnificent gravity. It's not enough to simply call her a star, even a super or megastar. Her wheel's so big she's all of the stars, the heavens incarnate. The majestic complexity of her essence displays a grandeur greater than those trillion-plus elements. The love of which I write embodies miraculous beauty and light; she is the face of creation itself come to life, and her collection of stars are all I pray to hold in my arms at night.

Literally, it helps me sleep.
Something about those choppy airwaves and blurred slurring helps put oneself to bed, to decompress and rest. To dream...

All I need by my bedside is one who sees me as a rockstar—but rolls her eyes and recommends I drink something else. Even better if she makes me drop it and hands me a healthier alternative. Got my mouth agape, open wide—Give it to me, mama.
"Anything for you my love, but it's late in the night for caffeine, and you must rest for tomorrow's performance. Please drink this potion instead and come to bed."
I don't judge role play, though I do score it as a Q Grader. Applause and a rose to a good performer but a muse score of brrrr helps put one in sleep mode, buried beneath snow. Boo.
Though there's nothing to be frightened about tonight, my heart, I'm packing heat.
"I love it when the paparazzi's after me. You're so sweet."
And you're pleased the big bad wolf's not blowing out the fire, I see.
"Yes, now let's turn it on, take a spin, and get some sleep."

I find it soothing for snoozing, that sweet lullaby of the wings beating, propeller blade slicing that circle on high. I pass out on snoring sycophants; no need for full-time stan or simp, but the one for whom I'm meant roots for me and builds a roost with me, raises and shares the roof with me. Someone who is at the root of me and supports and nourishes the tendrils in tender soil, unhindered and unimpeded by lesser agendas, devoted to our own ascendence, throbbing with life while transporting nutrients, as above as below as our roots intertwine, wrapping around each other combining our lives as we branch out to reach the sky. I dream of going from one to two and counting sheep with ewe with our mattress as pew, murmuring sweet nothings and nonsense on our pillow altar, babbling alone to one another as we drift off to the void amidst the white noise of the artificial wind...

Treat me kinder, treat me tender

Tend the hearth and add more tinder

Keep me warm in depths of winter

Hold my heart but treat it gentler

Please do not return to sender

Send me code my mind can render

Take my keys unlock and enter

Be my kernel's soul defender

Teach me love and be my mentor

You're the final courtship ender