Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: inner darkness

  • Ensnared In My Own Obsessions

    Ensnared In My Own Obsessions

    Ensnared in my own obsessions, tricked by my own illusions, I wandered, lost in the abyss of my fantasies. Nightmares were lulling me to sleep on a winter night, while soft whispers were revealing terrible truths to me.

    Time was slow like my heartbeat. I couldn’t cope with my anguish. It was a massive pain that devoured my heart constantly and slowly. Slow was the time. Slow was the consistency of all my pangs inflicted on me.

    Far away, I couldn’t perceive any clear horizon because respite was cast away from me. I could have cried; I could have screamed; I could have died from the cruel distress; no mortal soul would have ever noticed it in the realm of sugary masquerades and coffee goblets.

    Overwhelmed by the sense of oblivion and nothingness, I begged my fate to make me forget my bitter and sad memories, in an attempt to save myself from self-destruction. Teardrops of crystal ran across my face until they fell into darkness in the absolute silence of the eternal night.

    And I finally sipped the very last drop from my poison goblet. I could feel my heart fracture in all its power, and my body shake with bliss and delight. I embodied my decay fiercely, and flames engulfed me impetuously.

    Shadows captured me viciously with their menacing claws, ripping my heart to pieces of frantic flesh. Shivers of ecstasy and panic tore through my mind, and my body was no longer under my control.

    The void called me as if I were a creature of its realm. That immortal doom seized me in a dungeon where no starlight could penetrate. I hesitated and sighed in the midst of the nocturnal haze, which hid the deception of my dreams.

    Ensnared by my own obsessions, fooled by my own delusions, I strolled, although I was confused in the chasm of my daydreams. I couldn’t feel the loneliness anymore because of my imagination. I couldn’t discern anymore what was real and what was not.

    I strove to feel calm and so much wished to be a star glowing in the sky among clouds and moons. I aimed to be infinity and emptiness. My heart became a labyrinth of frenzy and ambiguities. I was longing to be taken away from my hallucinations.

    And I screamed to the firmament a multitude of times, though I knew that no creature was willing to hear my laments. Wicked visions cast a spell over me, mesmerising me, and I surrendered to their shadiness, mistaking it for deliverance.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • In The Frosted Rose Garden Of Madness

    In The Frosted Rose Garden Of Madness

    In the frosted rose garden of madness, a place of bliss and delight, prospered in secrecy. Thorns and petals intertwined in a lethal union, merging like sweet poison in the twilight. Snowflakes were falling over me like soft caresses sent by the luminaries. Clouds were numbing me with their alluring charm, casting bad memories away from my mind.

    Everything seemed perfect and deformed. What appeared to be real was just an illusion, and I fed my soul with delusions and glimmering lies. While the flickering of the candlelight created constantly bizarre drawings of shadows on the walls, made of bricks and bones. The wind hushed me, for me to pay attention to some revelation I was supposed to hear.

    The frosted rose garden of madness was my hidden haven of lunacy and spices. Every kind of rose would blossom in it, surrounded by thorns and arrows. The exquisite magnificence of the view contrasted with the scent of death, which was hovering over it like a wraith from the underworld. My madness was the artifice of my descent to a vortex of frenzies and obsessions.

    Storms inside my heart besieged my boldness, and I surrendered to them. Undoubtedly, I was bold enough to face my obliteration, but not enough to accept my ineptitude. Lores and legends guided me on a perilous path of oblivion. Thorns and pins pierced my heart as I embraced folly and turmoil.

    I wish I could help myself in this labyrinth of passions and longings. Nonetheless, I was lost permanently in the realm of nowhere and absurdity, where everything could have been granted in every conceivable manner, in darkness and light. The colder I felt, the more the dwelling around me dissolved in a haunting haze of derealization.

    Shadows sighed in despair, and infinity bled into nothingness. Gloomy shades invited me to hush, sealing my lips with crimson sealing wax. My freedom had been traded for eternal doom and toxic chains. I didn’t recognise my frosted rose garden of madness any longer, because it came to be a forsaken ravine.

    Indisputably, I had lost the purpose of enduring my burdensome existence. Even the trees and flowers refused to make my acquaintance. I was cast away in the kingdom of desolation and balderdash. I forfeited my voice, and my screams carved words of dismay in my heart.

    I was mesmerised by stupor and dizziness as I crossed the portal to utopias and idylls. I had entered an everlasting dream, where I was ethereal and fragile like a rose tormented by blizzards. In solitude, my collapse epitomised the shattering of my dreams, which disintegrated into ashes and frosty flakes.

    In the frosted rose garden of madness, I fell into a deadly slumber listening to the sound of a deafening silence. I could envision my fantasies as tainted desires of love and death. Caressing brambles and hibernated roses, I vanished into the marvellous dark mist of the night as if I had never existed. I became darkness and light. I became ice and fire.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • An Evanescent Bliss

    An Evanescent Bliss

    An evanescent bliss came to me in my nocturnal dreams. It was like a bright flame that burned my heart, and I cherished it as a precious jewel. Although I knew it was just an ephemeral fantasy, it was my only treasure to live for. Until the day when my mirrors fractured, and truth became a deception.

    So much dismay was inside my trial bones that I couldn’t realise I was still alive. Nevertheless, I wasn’t able to admit my loss. I was still willing to embrace illusions and to ignore forgery. And, at the end, I saw everything that was lying behind my imagination.

    In a decrepit and dusty attic, I found chests of ambrosial delights laced with poison. They were there, on purpose, just to attract attention, but their intent was lethal. They were glad to offer delightful winks of bliss and joy in exchange for souls.

    I lost my euphoria, and every thrill of ecstasy faded away. My mirrors revealed hidden secrets to my heart. I had to encounter my dreads, and the truth I didn’t wish to disclose. Candies tasted bitter and toxic. My blood was tainted with venom and revenge. Turmoil devoured my heart and turned my blood into a scarlet curse.

    My misery transformed into chaos and resentment. I embodied the dungeon in which I was secluded. I became a victim of my own naivety, and it was too late to remove those poisoned, sharp daggers from my heart. What had teased me at first was now haunting me nastily.

    I had to touch the emptiness to feel the darkness inside me. Dreadful enchantments enticed me like familiar spells. I sank into the abyss of sadness and desired my own self-destruction. Grief was engraved in my heart, and I completely forgot every kind of evanescent bliss.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Collapse Of My Haunted Illusions

    The Collapse Of My Haunted Illusions

    The collapse of my haunted illusions began the night of my fall into the dark chasm of my fears, where I’ve been tortured by sharp thorns and daggers, penetrating my heart in every way, and making it bleed to the very last drop of blood.

    My soul was burning alive, and I could hear the screams of my dreams, alive and breathing, to get the last essence of my foolishness. I had tormented scars cherishing my grief and sorrow. All in the while of my transformation and decay.

    I was reborn and died oftentimes, as long as my heart was struck by the many thunders of madness and self-destruction. Everything could have obliterated me in the valley of despair and grief.

    I was bound to the chains of the deserted version of myself and obscure presages. The fate surrendered at the sight of the tower of my solitude, where I was the only captive in the presence of wraiths made of tragic illusions.

    My tragedy was an everlasting and bright gift, like a hidden treasure. I knew not what could be expected beyond the several doors that kept me locked up. I could have screamed all night long and no phantom would have heard.

    My tears were pearls anchored to my neck like sharp hooks, tearing at my skin. While obsessive fears were swallowing my soul, and as much as I might run, they hunted me wherever I wandered during my endless bleak nights.

    Loneliness was retaining me as a creature of its own realm. And the steadiness of silence besieged my delusional abode. My pierced heart dangled from the ceiling and its drops of blood traced sacred symbols on the frigid soil.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Dreams Of Oblivion

    Dreams Of Oblivion

    Dreams of oblivion darkened my sleep.
    They were like palliatives for my searing pain,
    numbing my heart and soothing—
    If only for a moment—
    My spasms of fear.

    My disappointments had become like cobwebs woven inside my heart,
    darkening every joy, even the smallest.
    Ultimately, I had not chosen my fate,
    and I groped in the dark uncertainty,
    trying to understand where I was and who I was.

    The disdain and aloofness that oozed from the faces of mortals who had crossed my miserable existence
    had transformed me into a silent, sombre shadow
    whose image did not appear in any mirror.

    In my dreams of oblivion and madness, mediocre monsters that sought to tear me apart
    appeared menacingly in the realm I tried to protect and keep as mine.
    Their intrusion was truly an act of violence.
    Their intent to destroy me was the source of my fears.

    Ancient dusty clocks tolled the time, which always seemed the same.
    The dust of decay and sorrow fell upon me like a heavy rain,
    covering me completely and turning me into an invisible shell.

    Watchful and evanescent veils covered me, so as not to show me the harsh reality whose injustice and squalor could have tainted the integrity of my heart. And my attempt to awaken from that stupor mixed with despair was in vain.

    I was about to become oblivion.
    I was about to become my dreams.
    I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
    almost invisible and nonexistent,
    that no mortal of the common reality
    could have seen with their limited gaze
    shrouded in prejudice.
    I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
    almost invisible and nonexistent,
    that no mortal of the common reality
    could have seen with their limited gaze
    shrouded in prejudice.

    Perhaps I myself was an illusion,
    perhaps I had become a utopia or a chimaera.
    The devastating pain had transformed me
    and erased every trace of my mortality.
    Elisabetta

  • The Memories Of The Past

    The Memories Of The Past

    The memories of the past drag me into their swirling realm of despair.
    Alone, I find myself in a desolate place, a pit of the living dead—buried memories in the graveyard of my past. All I see are rows of lifeless trees.

    I pretend it is autumn, or perhaps winter, yet in truth this entire landscape is but a reflection of my dead and decaying soul.
    The darkness of the night does not frighten me—on the contrary, it is part of me. I am no longer who I once was; I have become a spirit of the night.

    The emptiness within me is filled with fears and regrets, and with all that I have lost unconditionally and irreversibly—things I shall never have again. And thus, the wreck of my existence: not only is it wretched, but also laden with pain.

    My cries of pain and my screams of despair are worth nothing. I have never been worth anything—only to wither my soul, already inscribed with daggers of disappointment and betrayals, inflicted by monstrous and mortally deplorable beings.

    All my crumpled desires and shattered dreams lie underground among the remnants of my memories and regrets. Left without emotions and left without words, I surrender to my nightmares, to my anguished obsessions that permeate my heart and tear it into a thousand pieces.

    My tormentors advance relentlessly, ready to tear me apart and destroy me in oblivion and forgetfulness. How much longer I must suffer, I do not know. I only know that cruel fate has entrusted me to the ship of the wretched and lost souls.

    The memories of my past haunt me insolently and give me no peace, and so I shall spend the eternity of my non-existence as a restless spirit.
    Elisabetta

  • The Spell Of The Magic Night

    The Spell Of The Magic Night

    The spell of the magic night bound me to a deadly respite
    A slumber of shadows too deep to escape
    Under the siege of absolute silence
    Dreams whispered legends of ashes and decay

    I was facing all my fears and my subconscious
    It was like opening an ancient chest that long-time remained closed
    Disclosing memories enveloped in dust and grief
    Each emotion was a fragile relic, and each fearful thought was an erratic rhyme

    The consequence of my own darkness dragged me deeper
    As my shadows manifested like abandoned ghosts
    And I became a captive of the stillness
    As I came to be aware that the price of awakening was far too high

    Immobile I remained on my fancy bed
    Expecting my frenzy to embody the shape of one of my visions
    I longed to become an illusion adrift in the aether
    Like divine smoke rising from sacred incense

    My heart was pounding from the sinister noises above me
    It felt as though I lay beneath demoniac clouds
    Where wicked souls wove silent conspiracies against me
    The void inside of my heart consumed me

    I surrendered to the phantoms of my anguishes
    They were no longer my tormentors but silent companions
    In the vastness of my hollow night, my thoughts dissolved like torn silk
    Each thread was lost to sight into the infinite darkness

    I finally ceased to search for who I was
    Since I became a part of that quietude I once feared
    I hovered through each memory of mine
    I had become a vibration surrounded by the velvet darkness

    All that surrounded me turned into a silent garden
    Where hushed sorrow bloomed with invisible petals
    And dreams fell like shadowed snowflakes
    On the altar of my fading spirit

    I wandered like a ghost trapped in a hall of mirrors
    Indeed, I had become a phantom of my own making
    And I eternally remained trapped in my dreams
    Under the spell of the magic night.
    Elisabetta

  • My Obscure Sides

    My Obscure Sides

    My obscure sides are so numerous that they cannot be contained by the vastness of the ocean. If someone sought to know them, I would say that I am only made of darkness, for no light remains within me.

    Beneath a cloudy night sky deprived of stars, I wander in my loneliness without any moonlight shining over me. Embracing my fears, uncautiously I explore all my darkest secrets.

    Bold and reckless I explore the most hidden recesses of beauty and mystery. I love to dance alone in the coldest winter nights under the cloudy sky. I love to be mad and foolish and never care about the consequences.

    I’m a courtesan and a poet, embracing my most feral self. I often forget my name and I don’t fit in any box of comfort and conventions. I’m free like a butterfly flying from one flower to another one.

    I adore being stroked by the frost wind and pierced by thunders of passions, feeling the poundage of my incubi on my body during my respite.

    My obscure sides hide quietly in the shadows of my heart. I’m bound forever to darkness and sorrow. Indeed, I’m dressed in an exquisite gown made of grief and tears.

    I love to indulge in my decadence and I love to lie languidly on a bed of flowers contaminated by the dust of decay. Broken like a shattered crystal gem I dwell in absolute silence, inside my dark chamber made of anguish.

    I love to fantasize and live in my absurd dreams. I’m a living paradox and an oddity outside the ordered realm of standard society made of entities who are already lifeless.

    Embracing the chaos within myself, I sink into the abyss of darkness, wrapped in a cloak of sorrows and illusions. Chained by invisible bonds, I get lost in the labyrinth of my imagination.
    Elisabetta

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