Attention is addiction Sympathy is addictive Trends are destructive Don't you ever get intimated by people , social media or whatever you see i repeat! Dont you ever get intimated. P.s: before anyone it is a reminder to myself.
P S : PLS DON'T READ IF DARK AESTHETICS MAKES U UNCOMFORTABLE..
Note : Idk if this makes sense//..
The sky which was once bright in blue and paled in white has turned into a dark canvas, as if the artist is frustrated with his creation and splattered the black ink from his quill in a paranoic frenzy. Dark rainy clouds whimpered in grey holding the downpour of an eternity while still clutching the crumbs of antiquity..
The crusty dim lit room fancied only with a small lantern attached to the far corner swayed along with the wayfarer breeze who came from faraway lands bearing the stories of an alter universe, an utopia where Sun kissed stars and moon rained snow..
The yellow light from the lantern reflected on her frail face which was smudged between his neck, while his callous hands tucked her tangled locks away from her freckled face..
And they witnessed how the first drop of rain splattered in her eyes, twinkling in the lantern lended yellowy cluster of illusionary halycon.
Her eyes reminded him about the moon shedding its layers of silver in the Sapphire ocean when the night grows cold.. The eyes that once held rainbows now painted in blue and greys of the world she didn't belong..
"Make me a folklore, Will you?" She whispered while looking at his eyes, which were holding back the deep sighs she left in a full moon.. He held her close and asked
"Why?, Why do you want to be a folklore?".. His face held a child-like purity which she once fell in love with.. Her airy laughs echoed throughout their small room and even the sky held silence, as if they were breathing in her last memoirs of mortality..
His question went unanswered and they basked in the silence of the Universe once again.. Well, may be because she wanted to fly along with the nomadic breeze and quench the thirst of her vagabond soul.. May be because she wanted to be etched as a man's most precious childhood memory, one which their ears craved and eyes caved before their nannies tuck them to bed..
May be because she knows she isn't meant to belong here rather she was meant to be lost in the wilderness and the knitted eyebrow lines of a tribal old woman collecting firewoods for winter nights in dark woods..
Because she's a moon child meant to stay wild Run with the wolves on the northern lands Bloom, wither and frost under the seasonal Camouflage of cosmic quintessence Where her soul was safe from the world..
The whispers died down and small airy Puff's of breath left her body.. The man in white coat adjusted his glasses and detached her hands from the imaginary space she created in the bed, as if someone was laying there, as if someone was holding her close and listening to her.. But the empty side on her bed proves she was alone..
The man wrote in his medical sheets..
Diagnosis : Schizophrenia Progress : none Roots : unknown.. His hands etched to write a diagnosis he wasn't allowed to..
Another soul who didn't fit in, found her solace in her head.. And she's safe there...safe with a man from the moon whom she created.. One who sucked in her dark and filled her scars in starry mess and hide her from You, me and the world..
When the footsteps left the room, she heard a whisper near her ears which made her smile holding a serendipity on her soul
Sylvia plath was very famous writer she killed her self by putting her head in the oven(she was just 30 years old)because she was suffering from the depression due to which she started to loose her weight and she felt she is not perfect anymore I have depicted how one feels when he or she is suffering from the depression.