When we fall, we know how to land ��

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  • thesunshineloves 19h

    Might delete this later too! :))

    @btslove for you!

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    Life of winters

    is like before the first summer,
    like before the last sakura dies,
    like before any pied piper arrives,
    like before night ends with a prayer of twilight,
    like before the matchstick girl gets love,
    like before any mermaid is allowed to cross some reigns,
    like before a king crosses multiverses,
    like before a queen sings about dreams,
    like birth of christ and good times,

    like after candied candles light,
    like after veronica of valentine taken before getting hunged to the cross,
    like after polaroids sticked to empty walls,
    like after carnivals of last love,
    like after an eternal of sighs and tears.


  • thesunshineloves 2d

    Hanakanjō is a syndrome in which flowers start growing out of the victim's body because of a strong emotion.
    Maybe they'll grow when you're happy, feel loved or in peace! In that case (good emotions), the flowers will sprout painlessly.
    But maybe they'll grow when you're depressed, anxious or deeply missing someone... In that case (bad emotions), the flowers will sprout with a sharp pain.

    #end #wod #writersnetwork #miraquill #pod

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    her smiles bloom like snowflowers over his skin

    Flowers whisper from his skin,
    bright veins and colored flowers,
    luring into messy traps of tight hugs,
    cool breathes filled with fragrance from flowers.

    traps snapping back and forth,
    they collect sunshines,
    and wind chimes,
    from past to decor their present,
    collecting past pastel pinks for galactic greys,
    colouring into violets,
    like snowflowers blooming
    all over his skin.

    As she sleeps,
    he smiles watching the pain in her tears,
    kissing her tears,
    another flower blooms as he misses her,
    as he sees her sleep, thru dreams,
    in unrequited love
    everyone becomes a poet.


  • thesunshineloves 3d

    Ps : Ik this sucks!

    The Snowflake Breathing (雪せっ片ぺんの呼こ吸きゅう, Seppen no kokyū) is a simple, yet elegant Breathing Style derived from the Water Breathing and Ice Breathing.

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    Blue blossoms strike her heart hard, as she breathes out snowflakes, through voids of thin air, watches a pair of blue eyes and strong claws pounding onto her bosom with piercing gaze, she lifts sword to strike the beast hard.

    One more day of mythical mischief leads her to downfall from the last piece of land. As she trips and falls off, cold blood stains frozen lakes, a pink lotus hiding in the fog, the string between her and the beast hold her midair.

    Her sword breaks the string, again she begins to fall, but the last words from between the air shoots fear through her spine, halcyon bursts in every synapse along her nerves, clots of ink ready to surge into her smooth skin.

    Final draft of her last poem, battlefield covered with petals of her poetry, as her sword falls onto frozen ground with loud clink.

    / metaphors greet dead, as she dances lively again in the womb of poetry, her sword and her quill, both held her in peace. /


  • thesunshineloves 1w

    // W A Y B A C K H O M E //

    love is the last supper to my bones,
    festooned with uncanny cataclysm
    and silver lining of misery.
    beds, rooms, living area everything empty.
    once a family, now in just memories.
    those claws that get me wildflowers,
    fins and pearls,
    paws get me signs of first rain - first snow,
    wings with maples and songs of my cinnamon roll,
    all left me alone.

    settling down after a short panic attack,
    / not paws or claws to hold me tight /

    trapped midst unknown syllables,
    / no fins surround me anymore /

    not any receptor accepts my proposal of speech,
    as my vocal cords do the bare minimum,
    / as my lovebird would make me speak, left me /

    I lift up the wildflowers,
    crushing and pouring ink to write.
    trembling hands, write those names,
    as at the end of every name of my sweet pet,
    comes a tear.

    as antiscians visit me for every eclipse,
    clutching onto my gown as good old days,
    just as lightning strikes on my window pane
    and snowstorm goes calm,
    they leave.
    as this short visit of my beloved by noctiphany,
    helps me stall my last breath.

    to meet them on the other side, I wish,
    memories last long, thence,
    I thought that love would last for ever, I was wrong.


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  • thesunshineloves 1w

    - Aurelia -
    Her eyes look like unheard stories shaping clay moulds into archaic symbols of greek sculpture. Ferns adore her art, like poems adore her hand. Hooded ancient scribbler notes down this wholesome tragedy of her beauty, fading into stardust, on every full moon; as she kneads the raw heart full of thaws, to give a coarse tone to her soft armature made of delicate metaphors aligned. Lifeless sculpture breathes through her charms and breaks into tears in her arms as she quietly hugs it while sobbing.

    - Love -
    The rain is falling into the lap of mother, her eyes holding onto the dead child, as she surrenders the universe and offers it as homage to the holy trinity. Her fingertips still caressing the child's hair, pouring life into the scalp and skull. Soon awakens the child in heaven to find, an old man awaiting by the olive tree in their very own backyard, holding a box full of truffles and honey. While he leaves for the truffles, her arms fall down, she lays on the ground, by drawing life from every cell of her body into her eyes, to capture her child jumping with joy. She offers herself.

    - Xenon -
    Two lovers found two roads, one road allows only one person to travel. Ephemeral, burdensome, decision making time arrives as they borrow another hour from heaven to stay together. Like wallflowers with wanderlust, following a pitiful fate to rhyme a melody before departing, the xenon undresses his pathetic form and devotes himself to the pure bliss called love.

    - Old lavender -
    Your smile is a lie as the corners of your lips twitch with the tears rolling down from the canthus of your eye. You smile is real when you leave the old pages and old books in the cellar to find a new book from the unusual store called life to renew your writing skills and better adding more paintings if words could not describe the little descriptions of your routine.

    - Noah -
    When flowers bloom, the selene in mufti inspects the ruins after war, encounters the river. Crestfallen moon dips into brook, as it's shine brings the dead river back to life. Butterflies flutter their wings pouring some pollen over the soil where water meets. Elegant embodiment of forgiveness takes birth after destruction.


    / @writersnetwork Goonja sa hain koi iktara! ♩✧♪●♩○♬☆ /


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  • thesunshineloves 1w

    • c i p h e r i n g c o l o r s •

    // dauntless sepia descends -
    where if love stops to lead, hope takes over. //

    // sublime bohemian pastels fly when -
    galahad sojourn in mapletown transcends to sleek path of mercy through music. //

    // warm ambers in frost reign -
    as silver sword of the fierce valkyrie chops the sunshine to scatter peace in all the nine realms. //

    // rosewood turns to papers -
    if bones are powdered to make pearly ink, as tears of heart form words. //

    // saccharine shines -
    when pain disguises in poetry but cyanotic effect of pain doesn't subside. //

    // mustard succumbs -
    cathedral swings in night stars, carols refuse to stop, candles lit to send sign to the alpha and omega of universe. //

    // beiges add to walls -
    as burnt roses slip into thin air, flee towards west, leftover ashes of thorns still pierce into soles of feet, results in phantom limb. //

    // ascian nebula refers to -
    lost souls resting in gray to reform stablility in anything by stumbling over in arcades of lemons, as cicadas trail over their capes while they silently disappear into shadows. //


    #wod #writersnetwork

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  • thesunshineloves 2w

    #wod #pastelpoetry #writersnetwork

    / V a l e n t i n e V a g a b o n d /

    let's get rejuvenated, dear love,
    in finest creams of crests and crusts
    on earth,
    while planting stars under clouds,
    rejoicing pristine dawns under moon.

    candles and lanterns lit,
    by the parsley hills,
    handmade stars pinned onto pastel roofs,
    for quardragesimal fest of prayers.

    beiges of shores and scarlets of sun,
    nebula of sky and turquoise of hills,
    towns with no doors or thieves,

    under cain colored roof of aurora,
    easter eggs blooming in shadows of love.
    exchanging energies,
    from gibbous to crescent,
    let's stay together in the soop.


    (soop = forest in Korean)

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  • thesunshineloves 2w


    // The red shadow //

    The red shadow grows long
    as my handmade sun moves from my 6-3
    morsel of morales pinned onto my wrist
    like bells onto my bloody bracelets
    reminds me of heavens
    as another dream I illustrate

    the red shadow
    feeds off my satiety,
    purple from my bones and sky from my brain
    before night swims across the pacific
    to reach my bruised palms
    it'd engulf the light in me

    phosphenes die
    before I sleep
    flying all the night
    to watch my shadow
    disappear among the other shadows
    together we vagabonds
    rush through parsley hills

    getting rid of red shadows is difficult
    red strings break without efforts
    magenta slowly caresses nuances
    timid thalssic snowflower borne in my heart
    like lost and left memories


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  • thesunshineloves 2w

    poet home alone, bakes nothing other than own heart...

    words like old liquor for delicate palates
    ink like elixir dripping down in the cavernous veins
    shallow lies hang by epiglottis
    obnoxious truth follows labyrinth
    catecholamines rush sustainability

    dark chocolate melts onto my snowfrost tongue
    sour taste buds caught coffee beans
    as if ink is some filter coffee
    solstice marks my birthday as a poet
    as a vagabond seeking home in
    ink, words, coffee, gasoline and petrichor

    chamomile tea calming my nervous breakdown
    ends of my silk cape stitched with golden metaphors
    the best couture I become
    artemis lurking in metropolis claims rights
    for the night poems sulking in fog of twilight

    for now, savouring my grandma's lullabies I live,
    that pass through my dead vocal cords,
    sweet ecstasy to my bruised heart
    vaguely strolling in the backyard full of berries
    and butterflies

    custards softly clutched in my tiny hands,
    melopoeia slithering through my proses,
    broken phrases turn into poems,
    surely does full moon recognise my voice,
    as I feed off the sunshine.


  • thesunshineloves 2w

    Love is not helped, love is a help.

    Stellified sanctum with skeletons of lost love
    initiate amplified rays filling sober sonar,
    blue whales in wild know me!
    purple crocus hiding saffron love within
    chiffon moon catches fire of night
    literature captures frostfire
    fondly succumbing to earth
    old words like old liquor
    seeps into ground
    sunflower blooms in the morning
    from the same seed
    which blooms into
    a moonflower.
    the honey that drips out of this seed
    is love, that's a help,
    to the long lost souls.
    It doesn't need a help to be understood,
    //love is a help itself! //