aMidnightMasquerade

a million-watt candle

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(in)visible by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

(in)visible

bars hold until the clock strikes midnight. the lion released after a year’s starvation, wild-eyed search for the weakest prey. the old ones. the sick. the lion’s sick with a darkness that stays inside and around. the night lasts as long as the lion lingers, night like his cloak, night like his choking collar. night like the last night the lion ran you circles around the house the lights came the lights left and you were left feeling light-headed, afraid of your own skin. your own blood and bones. the lion never really left. the bars open. the feast continues.

How to Fail As a Writer by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Hunger Gnaws by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

Hunger Gnaws

Saviour, save yourself; throw out all your lines and you won’t have the strength to pull anyone to shore. Saviour, you dream of deep lakes, you drown asleep: you wake up with water in your lungs. Salty lips and landlocked. Dry throats can’t sing the sun back up. You’re waterlogged. You’ll mold. Saviour, you limp when you walk — how far have you marched, shoulders weighted; can you ever stand up straight again? You’ve food to feed five thousand, not a crust for yourself, just some dried fish scales to gnaw on your hunger begins to gnaw on you.

Self Extraction by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

Self Extraction

You will need a sharp scalpel and your full concentration; you will need a clean oil pan or a few old rinsed-out liquor bottles or somewhere drain all your blood. Once the heart stops pump pump pump pumping the brain can finally think. Silence becomes an empty playground frosted in moonlight, but stay here — start with the skin of your heels so you cannot escape in the middle. Be very calm. remember your breathing exercises. Remember to breathe. Keep breathing. Slipping outside like this takes time and a steady hand. Rub against the sharp rocks around you but do not cut open your belly, you clumsy snake. This, your initiation,

whose heart transplants here? by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

fetid fall by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Sufferance by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

blood makes blessing by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

blood makes blessing

"They say blood makes a blessing even if unknown.” -craigslist haiku How does blood make the blessing, still snaked through flesh or must the dermal gates cleave open a rising a small fountain a creek river, does the dam fall willingly? if I know the river’s name, does the blessing flood swifter? Must I wash my face in this, kick my feet with rolled up pants, drink just a taste - or offer the flow to some god too old to rise from bed walk down down the mountain. too old to remember the path back close enough to hear our prayers no matter h

ghost or shadow or something less real by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

ghost or shadow or something less real

I look up from the red-glow hiss steam of this reluctant bonfire I expect you to walk up (three years is long enough not to expect our dead father) but you’re even more of a ghost than the dust around our necks than the sunken face and shrunken limbs I refused to acknowledge with goodbye than the people who gave up on me when I lost myself in a depression sea of heavy blankets and locked doors; at least I know where those ghosts are, or at least don’t care. You won’t walk up — ghosts only travel in straight lines and the last fragments of your living body stumbled a crooked path away from here. It may take years

things we take from our house in flames by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

things we take from our house in flames

the heartbeats most important the ones internal the ones external furred feathered scaled invisible but more real than anyone a life-long collection marbles line the path back but then you ask won’t the smell of ash and burnt plastic be enough when we get close and how could we ever forget to at least get close? Those glass worlds are heavy you shouldn’t scatter them about. Pounds of rice to fill our bellies or rest our heads, rough grain-sack bosmati — the ground too hard our thoughts saw-toothed invasive grass burning hotter than anything else no wind but a firestorm they sway and bend down we sway a

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(in)visible by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

(in)visible

How to Fail As a Writer by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Hunger Gnaws by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

Hunger Gnaws

Self Extraction by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

Self Extraction

whose heart transplants here? by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

fetid fall by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Sufferance by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

blood makes blessing by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

blood makes blessing

ghost or shadow or something less real by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

ghost or shadow or something less real

things we take from our house in flames by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

things we take from our house in flames

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Sammur-amat's Special Slice of NaPoWriMo Pie by Sammur-amat, journal

Sammur-amat's Special Slice of NaPoWriMo Pie

Mar 23, 2013

COMPLETED ~beatingheartplz (https://www.deviantart.com/beatingheartplz) Hello to all the lovelies reading this journal right now! :la: Okay so, for those who know, NaPoWriMo or National Poetry Writing Month is about a week away. NaPoWriMo is an event where poets and poet-enthusiasts aim to write a poem a day for the entire 30 days of April. My first NaPoWriMo run was last year and it was so much fun that I know I'll be participating in this annual event for many more years to come. What is this- Sammur-amat's Special Slice of NaPoWriMo Pie -article all about? With this article (which I plan to update every two or three days from now till the end of this year's NaPoWriMo run), I

NaPoWriMo 2013 by theWrittenRevolution, journal

NaPoWriMo 2013

Mar 21, 2013

Oi, scriptwriters, playwrights - go see our equally awesome article on Script Frenzy 2013. :dummy: If you haven't realised yet, it's near the end of March. Some of our poets know what's coming up soon. Some of you are about to find out. :eyes: And INB4 some of you sling Eliot at me, yes, "April is the cruellest month." :ahoy: National Poetry Writing Month It's thirty days of April. It's one poem every day, and thirty poems by the end of the month. Write a poem each day, for every day of April. Any sort of poem - fixed verse, free verse, heroic epic, haiku, Google poetry, prose poems - any sort of poems. That's the challenge. From the web

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metamorphosis of a wool by aMidnightMasquerade, literature

Literature

metamorphosis of a wool

I am ready to slide out of my sorrow. I will slip it from my body like a newly divorced woman slips her wedding band from her finger. Slowly, painfully over years I will rip my sadness from its tender connection with my bones and tendons. Some nights will seem hopeless, the fear holding me like a cocoon that eventually transforms me into a terrified child, hiding in my blanket fort keeping the saw-toothed night at bay with a flashlight and wailing sobs. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for so long that I forget why I wait, until the sun shines orange secrets through my blind window. I brush off and walk away. I age twenty years betwee

metamorphosis of a wool

aMidnightMasquerade

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About aMidnightMasquerade

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Artist // Student // Literature

June 24
United States
Deviant for 18 years
blackletteraviary.tumblr.com
They / Them

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My Bio

the fool who speaks is the fool who's heard.
I am the daytime moon, barely there.

Favourite Writers

Bukowski, Bach, Quinn, Thomspon

Favourite Games

nuclear holocaust!

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words and phrases

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aMidnightMasquerade

Dec 1, 2014

a year shouldn't take me

0 min read

it shouldn't take a year it shouldn't take a year it shouldn't take a year but how long should it take to realize that you have to rerealize something to actualize. You have to rename your heart your own and it hurts when you take on your own name after eviction from your last name. It's been many years scratching to be let back in that door, but the house burned down. There are no sparks left, no embers, no warmth, no even the ash has blown away at this point. A black mark. Bones broken and so long healed you forget which fingers cracked, you imagine your whole body bent and twisted out of shape at this point. Maybe you were entirely broke

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aMidnightMasquerade

Sep 23, 2013

a vacant house, 10 acre expanse

0 min read

Moved back to the farm. It is no longer home but it's the place I spent the majority of my childhood. I've measured the broken walls for new drywall. I've paced around my brother's room I emptied with my bare hands, considered the sound of meth-pipes smashed in the dumpster out back, the disgusting refuse of the past 2 1/2 years bottled into this trailer. Emanating from that room. All the different shades of blue have been stained with ash and hate. "I hate jews", drug fueled unhistories, I don't know where to begin or end. I stood out in the rain for about thirty minutes the yesterday and my dog looked concerned and finally went inside

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aMidnightMasquerade

Dec 7, 2012

Black Letter Aviary

0 min read

I'm finally done with college. This means I can finally start that poetry blog for which I've been generating ideas for years! Yay! Black Letter Aviary If you like tumblr you should check it out. If not, I'll eventually host it elsewhere. I'll try my best to update every day and not fill your feeds with simply angst. Angsty outbursts will be reserved for this account because that's traditionally what it's been anyway. Hah. Be sure to check back for periodical updates on my post-university life off in the big wide world. I promise I'll make it an adventure for all of us.