HeyJaredabsence and other shapes | andreea
poems and reflections inspired by a dual reality of lived & imagined experiences🌛
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 4
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- Aug 8, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 9, 2026
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porcelain equilibrium (opens the original)
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there is a porcelain equilibriumbetween the numbness, the boredom,the glimmers of lightand the pangs of sufferingthe tip of the knife, the sufferingthe great executioner, the sufferingthe ecstasy killer, the suffering.it pulls towards the groundbut somehow a sliver of hopeoutweighs it.the curtain of rain hides the worldfrom itselfand from the truth that we cause our own sufferingbut we don’t know how to stop.guilt, shame, resentment festerthey waste away like putrid applesself-perpetuating to in
transitions, liminal spaces, change (opens the original)
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liminal spaces are transitional areas meant for passing through. because they are generic and devoid of specificity, they are familiar yet alien, comforting yet uneasy. a liminal space can be physical: hotel lobbies, waiting rooms, train stations. or it can be intangible: the transition from wakefulness to sleep, going through a change, moving into a new home.when going through a change, you embark on a journey that hopefully leads to self development. when you’re half asleep, that state is frag
i walk beyond the shore: black metal verses (opens the original)
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i walk beyond the shorewhere the sky is dark and aloneskeletal trees break the horizon lineweaving their branches into a shrinerending lethargic clouds to shredswith their witchy fingernailsraining blood into the groundcovering the soil like a shroudgod can you hear me?i have something for youthe offering is waitingand i am waiting toogod can you hear me?i made your sacrificenow give me what i asked fori have paid the pricei walk beyond the shadowswhere corpses decomposelit now and then by a thu
from the mirror (opens the original)
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from the mirror, watching me, confining me to my disgracepupils like hot iron nails burning stigmata into my faceword vomit into my notes app, spill the tar out of my chestcondemned to my jail of flesh filled with sins, not one confesseda cacophonous orchestra of voices outside my window sing an ode for the long perished ideals of light, beauty and loveseparated from the others by an impenetrable wall of scarscraving bitter self destruction from the smoke of their cigarshere I am, my darling mir
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