Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: existential dread

  • The Emptiness Within My Mind

    The Emptiness Within My Mind

    The emptiness within my mind
    Is death inside my heart,
    With no golden cage, no precious gems—
    just silence folding round itself,
    no escape, no hope,
    Only absence holding tight.

    Exhausted and devoid of feeling,
    I lay upon the cold earth,
    strewn with withered leaves,
    fallen flowers,
    and shards of abandoned dreams.

    Weeping,
    I heard the intense sound
    of my tears falling
    on leaves shriveled
    by the cold wind of night.

    Nothing remained
    around you,
    around me,
    But only the vague memory
    of those anguishes
    that oppressed me
    and never ceased
    to pursue me.

    I no longer held
    any desire to desire,
    nor to keep
    anything within my heart.

    My heart had ceased
    to be a chest
    of my wishes and whims.

    It was merely
    an empty chest,
    emptied by the fury
    and storms
    that swept over me
    In my wretched existence.

    Not even the stars
    sparkled in the sky
    above my dwelling.

    The heavens refused
    to shine for me.

    Yet they had forsaken me
    to my fate,
    where no hope remained,
    nor even a small flame
    to bring me back to life.

    Whispers and murmurs
    came to me
    In the form of a misty breeze,
    laden with elegies
    and funeral hymns.

    Despair and anguish
    were gifts bestowed upon me,
    like dazzling joys
    that in truth did not shine at all,
    But bound me fast
    In a realm of cruelty,
    wickedness,
    and mercilessness.

    Helpless and fragile,
    like the petals of a well-bloomed flower,
    I could not withstand
    such impetuousness and violence of events,
    so hostile to me—
    like endless storms at sea
    whose fury knows no end.

    The emptiness within my mind
    had become a spirit that subdued me,
    against which I could no longer resist.
    At last, I became part
    of the abyss of oblivion,
    And there I remained for eternity,
    wandering like a cloud
    In a stormy, winter night.
    Lisa

  • I Belong To The Nightmares

    I Belong To The Nightmares

    I belong to the nightmares and the nightmares belong to me
    As long as my heart still beats I will be a creature of the darkness
    Anguish and distress are the reflections of me in every mirror I encounter
    I have no name but my past is an abyss of obliteration
    I have a dread of existing because I belong to death
    I possess the gift of scorn and indifference because nobody ever loved me
    I’ve always been despised and estranged by every shadow of this world
    I don’t belong to anyone not even to myself
    I belong to darkness and death
    Having lost all those treasures I’ve cherished so dearly
    Now I’m left with nothing but the dust of decay
    My bones and blood and heart belong to the underworld of death
    A realm that despises every miserable being parading their ridiculous triumphs with vain and frivolous pride

    I belong to the nightmares and the dungeons of madness
    I never follow the trail of soulless being of this material world
    I stand alone in my misery and proudly away from everyone
    I don’t need anyone belonging to humankind because I feel only rejection
    I’m a shadow of the night and my heart belongs to whom is not anymore with me
    I sealed my heart with ancient crimson wax made of my blood and tears
    Pride no longer belong to my ethereal sphere, where I decided to enclose myself to avoid the corruption of falsity and hollowness
    The silence that I chose to embrace is deeper than a grave
    In my sanctuary reserved for the broken and cursed spirits
    I despise the sunlight, and I devote my fetish to darkness
    In my veins flow only blood made of sorrows and black ink
    I have become the manifestation of all my screams that nobody ever heard.
    Elisabetta

  • The Mirror Spell

    The Mirror Spell

    The mirror spell was cast in a time long past,
    When the shadows were more sombre,
    And no light was reflected by that polished glass with worn edges,
    In a realm where dreams and desires were both shattered and torn.

    The mirror held a mystic snare,
    Since an ancient curse was embedded underneath;
    Its countenance became frozen as the night descended,
    Concealing tales of malcontent and sorrow.

    None could ever have touched it,
    A frail and lost vestige of the past.
    No one knew the foolish tale of this magic mirror,
    A mirror that, for every glance, granted but a glimpse of dread,
    Revealing only truths that none could bear.

    Withered hopes and desolate hearts laid bare in that realm of death,
    Each crack was a line of sorrow’s trace,
    Revealing each distorted dream in a haunting silence.
    Each night, it summoned a hollow tone,
    Luring the lost to claim its own;

    In haunted halls, where echoes roamed like wild animals,
    The mirror enticed the lost dreamers,
    Making them drunk on dreams, their fleeting light,
    Swallowed by chasms as dark as night;
    Its silent curse, a binding thread,
    To weave the hearts of the forgotten dead.

    In this fatal frolic of dreams and oblivion,
    Those who dared to peer inside,
    Were drawn to an abyss none could disguise;
    Till flesh and spirit, thin and worn,
    Became as pale as twilight morn.

    The mirror lingered in that desolate dwelling,
    A relic untouched by time,
    Luring those who sought reasons that would forever elude them.
    Veiled in glooms, it became a gateway,
    Pulling ghosts into a realm where whispers of despair merged with the lingering scent of dust and decay.

    Each sigh, a lullaby for the forlorn, coaxed the foolish and fearless alike until consumed by the darkness.
    They hovered beyond the reach of dawn,
    Into the infinite void.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Silent Abyss

    The Silent Abyss

    The silent abyss,
    Beneath the crumbling skies, where shadows laugh in fractured tones,
    A void swells with silence, choking on forgotten echoes of time.
    The winds howl, though unheard, their voices twisted with the lost,
    Cacophonous yet mute—an unsettling hymn of invisible despair.
    Jagged whispers scatter like broken glass across the emptiness,
    Shards of forgotten yesterdays, falling endlessly into the silent abyss,
    A place without a name, without memory, only a hungry void.

    Silent echoes gnaw on the bones of shattered dreams,
    Feeding unseen monsters that slither between cracks in the dark,
    Their secrets are stitched into the fabric of nothingness,
    A quilt of dread that wraps around the spine of the universe.
    Veins of night bleed into the endless well, blacker than black,
    Twisting into spirals that strangle the unseen heart of the void,
    Claws of forgotten fears dig deep—ripping the night apart.

    What slumbers beneath? What breathes this doom unseen?
    Chained stars scream without sound, swallowed by the silent abyss,
    Where time dissolves like dust, and silence wears a crown of shadows.
    Endless, the abyss yawns—hungry, forgotten, an ancient mouth,
    Devouring each heartbeat in the stillness of an ever-bleeding night,
    A silence that consumes, that gnaws, that seethes in quiet wrath,
    Never-ending, never seen, yet forever within, a secret curse.

    Here lies the world unmade, cradled in dark oblivion,
    A place where no light dares enter, where only the abyss reigns,
    Silent and eternal, stretching out its tendrils unseen,
    The silent abyss,
    As it devours, devours, devours all that remains.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • A Secret Doom

    A Secret Doom

    A Secret Doom,
    Cracks spread like nightmares across the pale sky of dusk,
    Twisting through the bones of the earth, splitting it wide,
    As secrets, dark and festering, rise from forgotten graves.
    Whispers drip from shadows unseen, crawling through the air,
    A doom long carved in echoes, unspoken yet unavoidable,
    An invisible weight pressing down on the heart of the world.
    Each breath tastes of ruin, sharp as the edge of a knife,
    A phantom’s regret lingers in every corner of the mind.

    Beneath the surface of the soil, something stirs, something waits,
    A hidden truth buried deep, locked within the marrow of the earth,
    Its presence was felt in the tremble of leaves, in the shiver of wind,
    As the sky darkens with dread and the stars turn cold.
    Eyes close, but visions remain, burning behind the lids,
    Fingers grasp at the air, tearing at the unseen veil of reality,
    But nothing holds—the void laughs softly,
    A quiet madness that hums beneath the skin,
    Invisible threads of fate weaving a pattern of despair.

    A secret doom spins its web, each strand a tale of forgotten sorrow,
    Tangled in the fabric of existence, in the very core of being,
    Where chaos reigns, and reason falls away into oblivion.
    Nothing remains but the endless fall, the plunge into the unknown,
    Where no ground waits beneath, only the infinite descent,
    Into the crushing weight of emptiness, a hollow pit of eternity.
    In this place, secrets and doom entwine,
    Feeding on the darkness, growing stronger,
    Until only the echoes remain, fading into nothingness,
    Lost in the void where all is forgotten, and all is lost.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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