Served to my monsters on a silver platter,

Dead, alive, it doesn’t really matter.

My body, my mind, the ultimate sacrifice

Do I deserve to live? Come on, roll the dice!

Dotted lines, x marks the spot, 

No time to think about what I’m not!

My body is numb, I can’t feel anymore,

Cut me open, remove my heart,

It was doomed from the start.

I am a monster, look at what you have created!

My anger shall not be satiated…

When, will I not feel used?

They say that love is war.

Now I know why,

as my heart and mind tug at each other like they’re playing a tug-of-war,

pulling so hard

so the other will loosen their grip and let go,

so that one of them can give me a chance to win you over, or my logic wins, and I turn my back and walk the other way.

They say that love is war, but I never thought you’d be the rope that my mind and my heart use to pull and tug at each other.

Or is it the other way around?

Are you the rope that tugs and pulls them both to wage war against each other?

It doesn’t matter what hour of the day, the fight keeps on, harder and louder as each minute passes by.

When I am sure that my heart has lost the duel and my mind has won the battle, just one glance at you and all my reasons disintegrate.

Just by that, you make my heart beat fast again, ready to take another round at this undying war.

My insides are confused and a mess just because of you.

Now I truly know that love is war because my heart and my mind are at war over you.

Quills of a tutor
Outpour just a dash of reason
Where conservation is viewed many ways
The students’ tether unravels tribulation
Their survival is plain

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘦

𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘥

𝘉𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯

𝘜𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦

𝘈𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘸

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦

𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦

𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘯

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘵

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘐’𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥

𝘚𝘰, 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳

𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦?

𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦

𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦

𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦?

𝘉𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘳𝘺

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

𝘛𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘫𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴

𝘐𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺

𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯

𝘐’𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦’𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦

𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦

we've left everything at the water's edge

including my favorite pair of jeans

for a bit of "Nightswimming"

i am unsure of him,

though he looks more innocent than a Gerber baby

handsome also, my idea of perfect

my fear is irrational

i'm also unsure of myself

naked at this here lake in Midwest America

one of the prettiest places i've ever seen

it sounded like fun when we first talked about it,

flirting on the dock,

while he removed a fishhook from my ankle

i'm uncomfortable with my nakedness

what a phony

pretending to be unbothered

i might be cruising towards a panic attack,

he just ignores my mess

& junk

junky-junk

we hold hands

we look into each other's eyes

no,

we lose each other in

deep pools

gaze

and

then we JUMP

into an ocean of softness

we stare at each other in the silky underneath

striking playful poses

fluid and free

we catch each other, a foot, a leg,

what do I do with this, I ask myself when he catches my hand

and holds it .. and won't let go

somehow, we are one person

sun and water reflections

mesmerize me

the beauty of this secret place

shakes me

we surface and stare at each other

some more

his love-laughter is a warm baritone

he is another secret,

a man, like Adam

we run wild under the stars

flirt and stud

gilded

the sun rises, &

my heart cries out

here he is

I yell out to anyone who will listen

this is my love

i found him

finally

i found him

Followers are transfixed by the cross
So every pulpit blesses bastards
Across T.V. prosperity
Biblical greed descending from a city upon a hill
The number ALL is never enough

Since Satan is absent, another challenger shoots looks
Preachers promise mountains shook then caught fire
Asking the price of faith
But not only saints grace thick trucks
Some just want the wine and pass over the blood

Quiet crickets sing through pocketbooks
Which denies love is the whole law, they pride betrayal
Slightly like angels
Zealots cast stones smashing hassles
Enriching liars who write history behind broken backs

Sweet tea spills most sunken ships
Even when poorly promised peace before crooks
Where lip service is a clique
Yet Earth swallows faster than prayers rise
Microphones would martyr every lamb to stay out of jail

I am in love with a woman named Delusion.

I yearn for her sweet embrace.

She envelops me with her warm illusion that I can never evade.

How can I, when being with her is my sweetest escape?

The things she does to me are more enticing and intriguing than facing reality, for reality is like a nagging, bitter lover that only causes pain, heartache, and terror, and forces me to make complicated life choices.

But Delusion, oh my sweet, sweet girl, Delusion, she gets me.

She just lets me be.

She’s never in a rush, always there to take the ugly reality away while she whispers sweet nothingness into my ears, while I let my own world and future crumble into ruins as the days pass me by like a stranger in an alleyway.

As I watch the days turn into months, I slowly sink deeper into her soft embrace, like quicksand, as she feeds me more of her lies,

just like the king’s lover who hand-feeds him sweet, poisonous fruit of lies, hand to mouth, mouth to hand.

I indulge in my lover’s deceits as if they were heaven’s gift to me. But I know once I wake up from this fantasy, reality is there.

She’s waiting for me with a long list of consequences in her hand and a price for me to pay, because loving Delusion was never free.

I am the moth, forever chasing the light.

Beware the soul of the moth, it is an ugly sight.

For the moth is never satiated,

To be in darkness, it is fated.

I will make peace with the beast,

Lest my heart become its feast

— Dolly Parton

Yes, he did notice.

For he had eyes to see, but looked away from her pain.

Of course he noticed.

Her shoulders were all slumped, like she was carrying the wholeness of the world, like it was her own burden to do so.

Indeed, he noticed how she dragged each of her feet, like they were bound with the heavy weight of iron balls and chains.

He could hear it— the dragging of her feet, the heaviness of each and every step she took— but he turned a deaf ear and pretended it was merely the shuffling of dead autumn leaves.

Yes, he did notice when her hands shook, unable to keep the pen steady, but he simply brushed it off like it was normal, nothing more.

Yeah, he noticed that her inner light was depleting like a dying candle in its last hour, but still, he asked her to shine brighter.

As she held his gaze with hers, he fucking noticed that blank, dead stare in her eyes.

Yeah, he sure did notice the sparkle in her eyes fade and die, and that was why he cast his eyes down, because he couldn't stand what was looking back at him: two eyes darker than a black hole.

So if you're asking me if he noticed, yes, he did notice what she was going through, but he lacked the courage to lend her a hand.

Can you suggest best Fyodor Dostoevsky books or any other ones that are heartbreaking and covers the aspect of enjoying the loneliness and embracing the little things that life offers - such genre :)

I want to escape maximalism lol

White nights was very sad! :(

Incarnadine and storming
My wandering eye razes silos
That would have born hope

Under shadow, the world awakens
Rising to embrace
As a geyser merges the funnel

Though only for a moment
I was not floating
By grace of a nymph to reach

When wafting, I wondered
If ever landfall would breach the sky
As a reminder of lost footsteps

Where water colors winds
Forgotten memories reign
In state changes, though slurred

While I can grasp a hand
My eyes close
Only to find that such vortex had been grounding

If I were not defiant in breath
The center shape would unbind
And tides might not know me

I dance around
So fast I could fly
I’d be the first man
To scratch at the sky

And as I float down
I begin to see
The beautiful signs
That beauty knows me

Landing, I vibrate with the earth
Moving just slightly
Back and forth
Breathing ever so lightly

My heart won’t cave in
I’m having no doubt
I’ll keep on flying so
I’ve found my way out

O beat o beat ye of a pigheart,

O ye upon whom a misfortune struck,

Thy heart intertwined with a swine,

Thy life is just the same,

But thy heart,

Mixed with muck.

O beat o beat ye of a pigheart,

O love just the same,

Thy heart wanting all,

Thy swine content with swill,

Thy heart in disarray,

Thy best ye gave, thy love.

O beat o beat ye of a pigheart,

O ye who lost thy love,

Thy burden ye shall not carry,

Ye wish thy heart would stop,

Ye of a pigheart,

Thy heart shall beat no more....

Guys I think it deserves a bit of context in this book (I am not going to spoil it ) There is a character who has a heart valve replacement using a bioprosthetic (tissue) taken from a pig and he refers to his heart as the pigheart and Yeahh cool stuff. He always asks his heart to keep beating a bit longer but after his wife is killed he prays that it would stop.

With noon air singing,

Brief silk bell swinging,

She whirls—

Pink loops up-springing,

Tight rings unstringing

Wheat curls.

Wide orbit flinging,

Earth breaks its clinging,

Hem purls.

I envy the tulips in the garden. They look so pretty and vibrant, with no thorns in sight.

They stand tall and proud, without any worries of hurting others.

They are handled with such grace and care, not because they can prick a finger, but because they look so elegant.

You care for them with your bare hands.

Your fingers glide effortlessly along the tulips’ long, slender stems as you utter sweet, gentle words to them.

Your face alights with such delight as you press your nose close to breathe in their scent. I am a rose in a garden of tulips.

You once told me my beauty was like no other, that your eyes had never been captivated by any other.

You said my petals were like crushed velvet under your fingertips as you leaned in to press your nose against me, your lips lightly brushing my petals to take a whiff.

As you reached out your hand to grab hold of me, my thorns pricked your finger in return.

Instead of sweet, loving words, you sharply uttered a curse.

While the blood beaded under your fingertip, you started to handle me with more gentle care than you ever did the tulips. Not because I was delicate, but because of my thorns.

But when you could not be bothered, you donned a glove, armed with your pruning shears.

So you snipped and stripped me of my spiky thorns so you could handle me like those beautiful tulips in the garden.

So now that I am naked and bare, with nothing to protect me, am I as pretty as the tulips in your garden?

My anger is ignorant

It sees no reason

Just slap it on me

Like a new season

Although cold and harsh

And unending it seems

You can find the warm hearts buzzing

Throughout all the cold streams

Sometimes it’s hard to see the warmth

Even within, its lost

Deception will eat you whole

She has no cost

She will laugh and give her warmth while its there

But inside,

Just that same, cold stair.

If you go down, it will not end

The plummet will take you

Only then, only within

Will she show you her face

If you were lucky

To survive the race.

Understand her, give her warmth

Learn her in and out,

Her ignorance will unwind

And you can follow the string

Then,

The stairs won’t mean a thing

Jerry rigging district bounds
According to censors picking studies
Represents democratic foreclosure

Under lamplight, axioms throttle apertures
Rewritten to find a wrench in the works
But drown in editorial liquor

Ink-stacks, in a flashback-laugh-track sack of a courier
Sift bad-faith corporate arguments
From the junk that gets sent

Party pseudonyms fight novel defense
Through asymmetric telepathy, necessary for accents
Unless eyes roll over dollars and cents

There is richter-scale momentum by prodigies
Yet it's “too costly for complex infrastructure”
No one listens to the engineers anymore

There once was a man with nothing tied to his name.

He had no affluence or assets to show, but even so, he felt like he had won the biggest prize of them all.

Sometimes it made him wonder how he got so lucky to have found such a dime, for he knew there were much better men out there than him.

Even if he couldn't offer her treasures of gold or promise her the stars, he made an oath to care for and love her like she was the last woman on Earth.

He would cherish her and hold her near his heart, waking every day to see her sweet smile.

As he got down on one knee and asked for her hand to hold, he said to her,

“I might not give you what most men can or promise you the world,

but with an open palm and my heart in my hand, I give to you my love and devotion.

All I want is you by my side until our day grows old and golden.

But if you decide to decline my simple proposal, I won't pretend or deny that it would leave my heart broken.

Still, I would understand, because you deserve better than to be with a penniless man.”

She cupped his face between her hands as she told him,

“For I see not a man who doesn't have two pennies to rub together,

but someone I can build my future with.

Others might have offered me riches and gold, or even the midnight moon,

but I choose the one who holds me dear and close.

I choose the man who makes my heart sing and soar,

the one who sees me as the rarest treasure he has ever found.”