Category: Experimental Writing
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The Un-Place: A Perpetual Avoidance
The place I never want to visit? It isn’t marked on any map… a negative space carved out of the very fabric of being, a void where potential goes to curdle and dreams are embalmed in formaldehyde silence. But then, the silence would begin to press in. Not the comforting silence… This is a silence…
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The Hollow Bones of Dominion: An Ode to the Bald Eagle #poetry
Before it was egg, it was wind—an incantation whistled through the ribcage of extinct beasts, a secret folded in the sinew of time. The sky whispered a name long before it was given wings.
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The Unraveling of Bliss: A Symphony of Disarray #poetry #potd
You said inner peace is a state of bliss. I believed you. I swallowed your words like honey, expecting sweetness forever. But life is not a lake without ripples, nor a world free of storms. I have learned to dance with the chaos, to let go of what I cannot hold. And now, I ask—where…
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Fractured Echoes of an Unsaid Love #poetry
Was I serious when I said I love you, or was I a magician pulling a trick on myself? Was it the kind of love that stitches wounds, or the kind that carves them deeper? And when you looked at me, was it understanding, or just the polite way people stare at paintings they don’t…
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![[unwritten & infinite]](https://pebblegalaxy.blog/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/screenshot_20250309-054929_chatgpt2060885725439868497.jpg?w=1024)
[unwritten & infinite]
I am not stone, not river, not fire, not sky—yet I echo in all of them. Truth unravels in my hands, yesterday burns to smoke, tomorrow opens like a door. Nothing owns me, yet I breathe forward. Again, again, I become.
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A World That Has Lost All Colour: (An Odyssey in Greyscale)
A world once painted in fire and song, now drowned in the silence of greyscale forgetting. She tries to taste red, he reaches for blue, I whisper to the void—nothing answers. When colour fades, does the world remain? Or do we fade with it?
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The Last Text I Received (or, the Unfinished Symphony of Words)
A text—a ghost of intent— arriving wrapped in pixels, delivered by unseen satellites, a whisper across the void.
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The Years That Ask, The Years That Answer #W3Prompt
There are years that press their questions into your skin like ink, and years that peel them away, leaving behind the answers you never knew you held.
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When I Am Reborn, I Want It Just Like This #WriteAPageADay #950
I do not want a new beginning— I want the same life, the same sunrises bleeding into familiar horizons, the same stories, the same heartbreaks, the same unfinished symphonies. Let me return, not as a stranger, but as a repetition, a whisper carried by the wind, saying— again, again, again.
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The Ritual of Our Chaos: An Ode to Holiday Family Traditions #WriteAPageADay #630
Holiday traditions arrive like ghosts in ugly sweaters—uninvited yet expected, familiar yet strange. The table is an arena, the gifts are wrapped illusions, and laughter escapes like steam from a too-hot dish. We gather, we feast, we pretend the past hasn’t stained the cranberry sauce. And as the night ends, we lie: “We should do…
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