honeydewhymns

any pronouns ✌️ just a poet of the end times

Grid View
List View
Reposts
  • honeydewhymns 9w

    Fractal Moon

    Is ‘lust’ a verb,

    or a noun?

    I feel myself simmer.

    Shallow breath, the only sound.

    Is obsession a symptom or cause

    for how my flesh is fated,

    and ever ensnared

    in the brush of these

    grim, grey woods.

    “Love” is not a word

    that will easily settle itself

    over my soul, in the way

    a ravenous sun

    devours all twilight,

    leaving scraps of shade.

    No, I suppose I do not

    feel that hunger yet.

    And I am not estranged,

    or blithe, to how this form

    can please a sore eye.

    It’s too potent a charm

    for even a fool to waste.

    And that’s why I’m here

    right?

    To please you?

    My womb is barren,

    my skin is scarred.

    But in the right light,

    this tale of torment

    can be painted

    in such a way,

    where I am obscured

    and you are the hero.

    Is this what you want, darling?

    A fallen, fractal moon

    kneeling for you

    gracing your gluttony

    with my obedience.

    Besides, what is a shattered heart

    to me anyway, when I love the thrill

    of hands like knives,

    bearing its weight.

    My agony, your arousal.

    Indulge in my lies.

    Savor my heart,

    so my curse is lifted.

    Love me even still.

    And when I grow cold,

    sever me from the sky.

    ©honeydewhymns

  • honeydewhymns 9w

    Awen

    You tell me,

    that it’s okay

    if I have nothing to say.

    What a truth to tell the poet.

    You are in the synchronicities

    of everything moving and still,

    breathing and unbreathing,

    melodic and silent.

    I feel your grasp

    dip beneath the warm coat

    that is my fears,

    and pour out a golden aura

    of sunlight, the giver of life,

    to flood each synapse in my mind.

    You tell me “be at peace”

    like I had never fought a war in my life.

    And for once,

    I listen.  

    ©honeydewhymns

  • honeydewhymns 9w

    Icy Irises

    To truly know someone,

    to lie with them,

    is no ordinary feat.

    I’ve slipped into

    your subconscious,

    the bridge between

    desire and fear.

    I watch as your mind

    descends into madness.

    I never even kissed you.

    My eyes never once undressed you.

    And at the same time,

    I saw everything.

    Why would I need more?

    Why would I need more

    than to see a cosmic reflection

    of the most loved and hated

    elements within me.

    I will die giving a stranger

    the shirt off my back.

    I will die saving anyone at all.

    But the gods decided that

    they would not see me surrender

    if it ever meant I couldn’t love you.

    Sure, I will share a bed

    with many others,

    maybe even fall in love.

    But your icy irises will forever haunt

    my waking view, seize the flesh

    of every living organ in my body.

    Weaving a symphony

    from my every breath,

    until the last sinks into

    a blood stained horizon.

    But isn’t that what you wanted?

    For you no price is too much,

    even if it costs my beating heart. 

    ©honeydewhymns

  • honeydewhymns 11w

    Elysium

    Here is my question to all the world.

    Are there enough power lines 
    stretched across the globe
    to heal a broken man's heart? 

    When his mind drifts 
    and waivers like road gravel
    on a rainy day, who will steady
    his shaking hands? 

    I grow tired of seeing young men
    grow up to be heroes — no, 
    martyrs — under the heel of 
    an unforgiving world. 

    Throw them to the lions, 
    if only to spare them 
    from a lifetime 
    of never feeling worthy — 
    of never knowing their divinity. 

    Please forgive them,
    for they know not what they do.
     
    They only know who they love,
    that this torture endured for them
    is better than any Elysium.

    Even if it was as
    tangible, reachable, 
    and saccharine 
    as a drop of sunlight on their tongue. 
    ©honeydewhymns

  • honeydewhymns 24w

    Saccharine Solitude

    developers call it our "feed"
    and we wonder why
    we stir in saccharine solitude
    scrolling silently, seeking
    one. more. secret.
    curated confessions,
    empty likes,
    hollow followers.
    but these are our meager
    and marvelous memories,
    etched across ruins of blood-filled dreams.

    ©honeydewhymns

  • honeydewhymns 38w

    Whirlpool Whispers

    I wish I didn't miss you as much as I do. I wish I could just let you go, leave you alone, let my memory of you finally rest. I wish that I would've done things differently.

    Maybe the gods decided that you're meant to be the biggest regret I carry, so that I remain grounded.

    But I still look up at the stars like they are pierced holes speckled in the night sky, a cosmic colander draining the world of it's beauty.

    In your ocean I wouldn't care if we had floated or drowned.

    I just wanted to feel weightless.

    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 42w

    For Him, My Daemon of Dusk.

    I told you 

    in the soft summer afternoon,

    how I believed in God. 


    I held your gaze

    and we parted ways. 

    The metal bat 

    we found abandoned

    held upon your shoulders. 


    I prayed the day wouldn’t come

    when we would grow older. 


    Maybe now

    you think of me

    and recall my smile

    or my tears. 

    I will confess

    this joy and sorrow

    only grew across the years.


    Today, in a blink of an eye

    I caved, felt the joy of you. 

    Felt those butterflies in my lungs

    remembered those times

    when we were young. 


    When this hungry world

    didn’t tear at our flesh

    like a vengeful ghost 

    refuses to rest. 


    And now 

    for all I know

    this love and agony

    was only hallucination. 

    I’ve homed this sweet disparity 

    as if loving the emptiness 

    would mean our salvation. 


    But through all these years

    my seeds of grief were sown 

    into the ground, 

    reaping harvest after harvest, 

    leaving much to desire

    yet less to be found. 


    Soon I looked to the sea

    witnessed a salt kissed 

    horizon of demons, 

    dancing in the waves

    eyes boring into me. 


    This ache of knowing

    I had no boat to steer

    to navigate that which on land

    seemed deceptively clear. 


    To know the moon 

    was your only master, 

    to feel wary of the storms 

    only nearing faster. 


    To feel the boon of 

    being a coward, 

    teasing your heart 

    just along the shore.
     

    And yet, I was the one

    left wanting more.
      

    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 45w

    Devil's Snare

    Six feet under lay the seeds. 

    Pockets of potential, dormant, 

    who rise according to need. 


    They are the seeds of wisdom, 

    which we wrought under 

    a steel pressure, the forge 

    of pure intuition, visions 

    of a better tomorrow. 


    Still, we find 

    the same pairs of eyes 

    ever burdened with sorrow. 


    Still only a few can accept, 

    that a sacrifice made 

    is rarely a promise kept.

    Illusions prey in light of day, 

    never falter until a sky has wept.  


    But the prophet

    who strikes them down, 

    isn’t a mercy often found. 


    Our machines still pierce

    through hallowed ground, 

    drain the earth of her blood. 

    And yet, our holy temples 

    preach of everlasting love. 


    Save me your piety. 


    When we all get drunk 

    to forget our enslavement, 

    there is no such thing 

    as godly sobriety. 


    A rebellion is afoot, 

    a hearkening, beware. 

    For the devil’s snare 

    runs now among the fray. 

    And the very air we breathe, 

    instills young dreams of today.

    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 53w

    Dream Killer

    I once met a man,

    who inspired me to live

    with my eyes wide open.

    Never once foreseeing

    when light would come,

    blind my mind

    in its stead, cindering

    dreams, scorched in red.


    I have grown accustomed

    to sewing my eyes shut,

    just to know what it is

    to feel his shadow.

    Sorrow and rage, and

    their delighted hypocrisy,

    were never strangers to me.


    Sometimes I think

    I am like my father.

    Such acute obsession

    with mending things

    once they are torn

    beyond recognition.

    The foolish man

    will entangle himself,

    weaving a dead heart together

    because he can not bear

    the sight of the bloodless one.


    My skin is pallid now, 

    with limp arms that

    only ever wanted to hold you.

    Don’t come back for me.

    Don’t hunt me down

    in the black of night.

    The moon has no color,

    and she is a friend to me.

    But you, the sun, have created

    a kaleidoscopic wilderness.

    One I can no longer fathom,

    or navigate, without

    the warmth of your embrace.

    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 61w

    Bloodshot Eyes

    When scarlet spirits

    kiss the sky,

    like the pink

    of bloodshot eyes.

    There is no time

    left to cry.

    Their hot tears seep

    into dry earth

    and crumble empires.

    ©hauntedblossom