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Alector l·l Poet

@tris_magia

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⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠
I write for the quiet parts of you.
ORIGINAL POEMS — 🖤
Taken ✨️♥️✨️ 2y
#aphorism / #philosophy / #poem

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I've died a trillion times, Lyla.
The tears drowned every second I wasn't there to see you smile.
Through my glossy eyes, I saw you in your blissful joy.
You were always so busy exploring, your tiny hand holding the pixels of my absence.

You were born from the purest parts of us, the light that hit two mirrors to shine the universe.
I remember your first breath. It was the first time I felt the insignificance of everything else.

Yet I chose to leave you. I left my heart behind to strip the snare lack left on your name. But the price is proving too much. The importance of presence was always the present. My efforts to call were repeatedly brushed aside and with that same brush, painting me as a deadbeat father. I hope one day you know the truth. The ones that love you are just as capable of hating you, even if the reasons are the same.

— Your Dad

(Lyla) by @tris_magia

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2 months ago

Sadness feels bottomless. Not because there's more of it, No. Actually feeling is just the first thing it takes.

The emptiness isn't depth, Its the numbness that prevents you from feeling it all the way through.

Which is why happiness feels finite. You feel it all the way to its end. While sadness can linger until you decide you've had enough. by @tris_magia

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11 days ago

My respect... happiness... peace?
Was it really worth the distance? The longer I sit with it, the more sacrifice becomes the only currency we really have. An exchange that chooses the buyer like a gift, then spends him as a price.

That distance between what matters mirrors like a metaphor for my reflection. But the eyes forget the price, and the metaphor forgets the miles. So I stand at the point, holding the mirror behind the meaning. Somewhere past the analogy, the pain keeps time under my smile. So I do not see the distance. I only feel the price that cost the mileage.

(Lyla) by @tris_magia

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12 days ago

We have forgotten how to endure. And so we drown. We were meant to endure, to let the storm pass through us. We were not meant to survive by feeling nothing.

So the thoughts came, as thoughts always have.
Foul, uninvited, crawling things that visit every skull that ever dreamed. And where our fathers knew them as intruders, we welcomed them as prophecy. As identity.

To wear the wound as if it were a crown, to speak the name of sorrow as though the naming were the cure. And now we are losing the ability to make distinctions as if its an armor for accountability deniability. by @tris_magia

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a month ago

If i could paint the world it would be black and white.

And if i loved you it would've lasted through the afterlife.

Told me it wasn't you but you didn't have to lie.

Look at what you made me do, say hello to the goodbye.

All you did was front in the back, you know thats backwards right?

But thats okay, thats alright, mama raised a knight.

I hope this paints the picture, let it dry to night. by @tris_magia

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a month ago

Don't listen to every elders advice, Even fools grow older. A crown of gray hair can disguise an empty mind. Time might teach some but it's dragging others forward. Their lessons are stitched from fear long nursed, from regret gone to rot, from understanding fragmented into incomplete knowledge.

Question it anyway. Watch what happens. Watch how fast the flinch comes, see how the pride rises before the reasoning does. That pride was never earned in their own fire. It was borrowed, thread by thread, from tales they heard and never lived, worn like armor that was never fitted to them.

This is the secret no elder will hand you freely.
Wisdom does not live in the fool's mouth. It lives in the space behind him. Not in what they know, but in what their ignorance reveals. Find the lesson they never meant to teach. Wisdom is always sitting right behind the fool. That is why when you're looking at a fool, you will see what they don't. by @tris_magia

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a month ago

Victory...What a ridiculous notion.

It is but a Mask worn by the doomed, the damned, the deceived. A jest we tell ourselves to still the trembling hand.

We are children of the rot, kneaded from clay and ruin. Each breath a debt long overdue. The sheer multitude, and destruction. This teeming, writhing family of Man, gorging, weeping, baptized in blood.

A plague upon its own inheritance, swarming toward the only certainty that ever kept its word: salvation. This world was forged in hunger and hunger it shall keep, until the last flame gutters and even silence forgets to mourn.

And still...still the soul, that stubborn ember, seeks its solace where it can. In blood, in prayer, in blade, in verse. For such is the burden of our blood, such is the shape of our undoing. And such, God help us, is our legacy. As we carve our way through stolen time and loosening our grasp on what we are dying for. Watch over us a little bit longer, the best of us is yet to be born. by @tris_magia

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2 months ago

Fate, a dancer I once knew,

in her red-threaded dress. She holds you like a passing zephyr, she moves to the melody of your own volition. You meet her embrace with a doubtful smile, Still you dance to the choreography of your death Her face wasn't fair, but you catch a parting wink.

Trapped within a shifting circle, unseen hands steer you into a spin. She breathes the words worse than death: "This isn't the rhythm I chose for you."

Her fingers slip away.
Now you're marching in a line between others, stomping in rhythm to the sound of machines below.
The beat repeat and repeats
Now she dances with the chains of your government. Their dance is hideous, but you clap and clap, as the chains gets tighter and tighter by @tris_magia

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2 months ago

The very depravity that no other creature possessed was meant to be cherished. It was something that deserved reverence.

Our sin is all we have to show for it. We built cities out of the bricks we threw at heaven. And with this curse, we are alone with ourselves, monopolizing the taste of an apple.

Can the sky really hold our imagination?
Can the fire really end our dreams?
Or were those the dreams of our imagination?
This consciousness can't conceptualize the end of satisfaction. So let those gates burn, it's hot here anyway. In the end we are just the SONS OF SIN. by @tris_magia

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2 months ago

Birth of the machiavellian membrane:

His identity is but a thesis that revises the bent mirrors around his soul. His thoughts are intercepted by a deceitful line between the motives of patterns.

His emotions are imprisoned by an overlapping audit, drowned by the suspicion of your exploitation. His expressions are a parliament kept in adjourned mirrors, under the custody of a fraudulent integrity.

His guilt dissolves the instant conscience reaches to hold it, making his wounds obsolete under the intricacies of a mind that mourns the effigy of ignorance. His empathy is a blind signal cast into the deep, seeking the geometrics of its own isolation. Only he understand that truth is a position, not a possession. by @tris_magia

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2 months ago

From a tiny chromosome, you finally understand the value of the other, growing to be a fine example to your surroundings. Respect and trust. You find yourself in an empty elevator; another walks in. You smile and keep your distance. You look over to find that unforgiving look: fear.

Undeniably uncomfortable.
confusion swallow you whole. You can see the reason in the air, it's you. A monster unknown to you. As harmlessly gentle you are, you understand.

You finally understand what it's like looking at prey. Unwantingly but helpless to it. The door opens. You stand there conflicted and alone. With the criminal record of being you (Y). This will be the rest of your life now little chromosome. by @tris_magia

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2 months ago

She said, "I love you."
I froze for what felt like eons.
I searched inside for the words to tell her.
But "I love you" was never enough.
The search for it was,
And I never wanted it to end.

What I felt was an endless ocean of reasons.
My search left me speechless.
I wanted to tell her about the doubts that never made the trip. I wanted to show her the only three syllables that survived when the ocean was the gift.

So I told her:
The ocean was never the distance between us.
It was the only proof large enough to hold what three syllables couldn't. by @tris_magia

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2 months ago