aviisevil

aviisevil 8h

nothing comes
to mind—
only years
long gone

through snow
and rain
in summer’s fire
and winter’s hush

laughter echoed
tears fell
mountains stood still

seas we crossed
films we lived
and all our
innocence

now just stories
letters
memories

how deeply we yearn
for what we
already hold

aviisevil 7d

ruins hanging

to wake with
a heavy heart,
sinking into
the bed sheets —

battling
the abyss,

the long days
yet to come
gathering dust
in the corners
of this room.

sunlight spills,
scattering ruins
dangling by threads;

storms rise,
rage,
and disappear.

shadows linger
in the folds
of the curtains,

the clock ticks —
a slow, tired drip
into the silence.

hope is a moth
beating itself
against the window,

a soft persistence
against an endless sky.

still, the body breathes,
still, the heart remembers
the shape of light.

aviisevil Apr 24

pauper

I see brittle coffers
offering arms, legs,
and eyes—

palms, flesh,
and brittle bone—

trading sky
for a sliver of moon,

measuring heartache
on rusted scales,
trying to balance
what’s already broken.

While those behind
windows and curtains
and silence

take quiet note
of what you become
with time.

aviisevil Apr 12

O, how I failed you

i failed you —
again
and again

you
so afraid
of everything

hidden in your room
curtains drawn
windows boarded
lights gone dim

bowed before your gods
praying
begging
knowing

i’ve never known
anyone stronger —

to live
as you did
to love
as you have

exhausted
fighting
still dreaming

the world
wasn’t for you
but you
never complained

so this is
my ode to you

i’m sorry

#dark #sad

aviisevil Apr 7

tomorrow eats itself

last week
was survival.

i chewed the hours
like glass candy,
smiling blood.

tomorrow
i return
to the fire.

even the tears
have abandoned me—
silent deserters.

if only
i were the abyss,
endless.

or the pit below,
forgotten
and deep.

if only
i were meant
to be devoured—
ripped, gnawed, gone.

or maybe
a silver cloud,
slipping between
sun and sorrow.

a mountain,
unmoved.

a river,
unbothered.

the sea,
never full.

but alas—
i am only me.

and tomorrow,
i burn again

aviisevil Apr 6

it comes in rage

It comes in rage—
silence spilling
like ink
onto paper.

A sinking feeling,
sharp and familiar,
knocks on my door.

I feel her weight
pressing through the walls,
settling on my chest,
burrowing deep
into my flesh.

Her wild eyes
cut through the dark—
searching, knowing.

I hide
behind the curtains,
soft and useless.

The door stirs—
opens
the fire grinning.

Flames climb,
and smoke thickens—
curling into the corners
of the room,
into me.

But it’s alright.

I hardly breathe
anymore.

#depression

aviisevil Apr 5

the house I haven't built (the art of grieving vol. 3)

I breathe here—in this house
someone else built.

And I’ve lived in houses
built by others—

some far, some near,
but never mine.

I call this room mine—
these things, these clothes,
these books—
they are mine.

Aren’t they?

I look out the window
and see the trees, the sky,
the birds—

they’re not mine,
but I keep them close anyway.

I have loved,
and I have cried.
I’ve made others cry.

It’s not a fair deal.
It comes and it goes—
it rarely stays.

Like the words I bleed—
I confess,
I rarely know what to write,
but I write anyway.

And why do we write?

For someone to find us?
For us to find them?

For them to see us—
just see us?

There’s no art in this world
that isn’t a longing.

There are no happy songs,
or paintings, or photographs—

they’re all fleeting.

They don’t exist
the way we do.

You don’t have to believe me.

It doesn’t matter.
I do not matter.

My thoughts,
my dreams,
my words—

they do not matter.

Nothing rarely does.

But I write anyway—
maybe you’ll find me,
and none of this will matter.

#love