Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: madness

  • UNTITLED EXTRAVAGANCE

    UNTITLED EXTRAVAGANCE

    UNTITLED EXTRAVAGANCE
    Pricey chocolate boxes
    Rocking horses
    Chantel perfumes
    Sweat of lust
    Monumental age gaps
    Low-grade romance tropes
    Obliterated artworks
    Puddles of broken puppets
    Greed and perversion
    A celebrated decadence
    Opulent bacchanals
    Filth and corruption
    Depravity at its climax
    Duck lips and finger hearts
    Desecrated magnificence
    Abyss of oblivion
    Cracked paintings
    Rain of latrine
    Tyranny and abuse
    Second-rate pastry and star books
    A vortex of folly
    Rot and rancid cakes
    Eternally lit cigarettes
    Loss of liberty and dignity
    Fires and floods
    Stink of restrooms
    Delusional comparisons to vintage divas
    Black veils and empty brains
    Commodification of body parts for expensive gifts
    Beds full of raw mating and hearts vacant of love
    Bathrooms and elevators as stages of squalor
    Luxury chocolate boxes and museum tea selections
    Traditional and distinguished restaurants
    Bathtubs and beds stained by carnal transactions

    There is no longer a remedy for the irremediable when the Great Museum of Art is inhabited by madmen and usurpers of beauty and sublimity. Every hope is shattered into pieces like priceless jewels fallen into the oblivion of ineptitude. The only thing that you can exclaim: ”Oh my God is that really possible?”…”Where had dignity been buried??”

    Desecration of beauty and culture flaunted in our faces by a squalid and rotten crowd of miserable servants and mercenary courtesans led by the Decayed Crone. Corpses of sculptures decomposed under a sea of ​​sewage and mud. No words could have expressed the complete horror. Corrupted bodies of marionettes covered by elegant dresses strove to get the benefits of all sorts.

    Rotten pies and cakes filled with poison and deception, luxury vintage perfumes scenting foul-smelling beds with dirt of lust and predation. Scattered books vandalised with dark markers by a depraved courtesan from the court of the Decayed Crone, an unscrupulous usurper of power. Hellish giggles blend with moans of pleasure at every meeting of the Infernal Ghoul with her demented mercenary courtesans.

    A bleak economy of flesh, where women’s bodies are traded like currency under the iron grip of a Decayed Crone, rewarded with gifts, wealth, and social status in exchange for obedience and degradation. Bathtubs and video games for daily lavish rendezvous between Scarred Cake and Decayed Crone, when they engage in luscious plays, recreating the roles of beloved granny and toy maiden.

    Rancid coffee was always served in fine porcelain sets with cigarette smoke and vintage phoney in brutal trysts where Scarred Cake was showing off a pink dress and the necklace the Decayed Crone gifted her, surrounded by boxes of lavish chocolate bonbons, rocket horses and museum tea selections. Amidst all this, Smokey Chantel, another courtesan, showed her senior lover the list of prestigious perfumes she wanted as gifts along with wads of cash and assured social positions.

    And the bells rang well in the Great Museum of Art, Uncultural Coffee, the coffee cup courtesan had arrived with heaps of unread books used as ornaments to mock the unsuspecting crowd whenever she dispensed volumes of wisdom from sagely grandmothers and tomes of love and feminism, all delivered with languid glances and nude outfits. Culture was just an option and a phoney label misused to hide degradation and frivolity.

    Fragments of masterpieces were scattered amidst torn paintings, puppet heads, chocolate packages, worn-out pleasure toys, burning gems, emptied liquor flasks, broken video games, lists of end-of-year recap and vandalised books. The historic pavements were covered in rubbish, duck lips, finger hearts, stale perfume bottles and pieces of coffee cups. All the sculptures were going to be pulverised and precious gems were swallowed by the void.

    Artefacts and visual relics were parts of sacrilegious compositions of rot, filth, rotting marionettes, and decomposed toys of flesh. In this apocalypse, the infernal circles of the Decayed Crone and her loyal mistresses, Scarred Cake, Smokey Chantel and Uncultural Coffee were celebrating with licentious feasts and putrid sugar parties, and they were praising the definite decay of art, beauty and culture.

    The malevolent Decayed Crone orchestrated her personal School of Arts, seducing and ensnaring the most fragile, unstable, and pliable prey. Depravity masquerading as feminism, manipulation disguised as a defence of women’s rights. A real cave of shadows and depravity, where ancient walls were falling down like dead leaves in a winter storm. Broken mirrors reflected distorted faces and the artistic heritage was considered an enemy to be exterminated.

    Each gallery smelled of burnt parchment, putrescent pastries, and the nauseous sweet potion of fear, a heady cocktail designed to intoxicate and subdue. Candles flickered over velvet cushions and cracked porcelain statues, while Decayed Crone amused herself with her childish and ridiculous courtesans, who were focused on taking selfies with duck lips, rancid lollipops, elevators, restrooms, hand hearts, black veils and long dress trails, cigarettes and poses of low-grade seductresses.

    Why protect the heritage and avoid the obliteration of the most magnificent masterpieces? On the contrary, the annihilation of every form of artistic beauty was the fundamental aim of the tyrannical Demonic Crone, who found delight and bliss in subjugating all her submissive collaborators and her beloved dramatic harlots, besides in annihilating and erasing every form of gloriousness from her realm of devastation and disintegration.

    The Great Palace of Majestic Art fell to pieces, while these dunces, Demonic Crone courtesans, together with their matron, celebrated, inept and utterly unconcerned with the havoc unfolding around them, trampling with sadistic pleasure the debris and dust of what were once wonderful works of art of inestimable value. Between snickers and sighs of pleasure, this gleeful company merrily entertained themselves, spending their time in destruction, lust and wickedness.

    Not even the most impetuous storms could purge this squalor, because nature itself had surrendered. Even darkness and light together with all the cosmic forces refused to accept such an abomination but nothing could halt this indomitable process. The stars and the moon were watching in astonishment at this atrocity. Nothing remained but the hollow echo of devastation.

    Art has been profanely slain.
    Monnalisa has been sacrilegiously slain.
    I have been slowly slain.
    AN UNTITLED EXTRAVAGANCE by Elisabetta Esther

  • Among Heartbeats And Sighs

    Among Heartbeats And Sighs

    Among heartbeats and sighs, I passed my long summer nights, while dew from the flowers wetted my skin. Purity and lust blended, luring me to the garden of the forbidden desires.

    The wind carried the exquisite poison of my flowers to my lips, awakening my body. I was mesmerised and enchanted with the phantom beauty of my own descent.

    I dreamed of marvellous roses sumptuously stroking my body, leaving me in ecstatic bliss. I grabbed and bit the fruits of delirium and madness ready to satisfy my greed.

    Desire and avarice were my startling cravings, which made my heart beat again and again like a source of power. I was dominated by my passions that monopolised all my attention.

    I fell into the trap of my mistakes and cried out all my pangs as if my teardrops could have erased all that dismay. I kept a multitude of longings in my secret treasure chest, which I sealed with tears and blood.

    A gloomy cloud of fear and disillusion enveloped me threateningly, deterring me from staring at the luminaries shining bright in the dark blue firmament.

    I was conquered like prey by my most wicked impulses, which were conducting me to the brink of madness. I couldn’t find peace anymore in my slumber since evil ghouls were keeping me eternally awake.

    Demise would have been the portal of my liberation, and instead, I was playing with ghosts and magical roses. I didn’t want to accept the truth, I desired to pretend that everything was perfectly terrible.

    The silver moon gleamed upon me pouring its ethereal light over my garden of woe and sorrow. And among heartbeats and sighs, I remained silent and listened to the whispers of the nocturnal breeze.

    I could scent the taste of poison and blood on my red lips. I felt a burden in my chest burning like an everlasting flame. I wished fervently to be a free butterfly flying over enchanted flowers. I wished intensely to be a free bird, soaring high amidst clouds and stars.

    A spell was cast over me, binding my heart to invisible phantoms. Desires had ensnared me in their vicious frolic, melting my heart into a lake of fire and ice. Therefore, I became a creature of that realm of shadows and darkness.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • A Shallow Melancholy

    A Shallow Melancholy

    A shallow melancholy caught me in the labyrinth of torment and insomnia. My heart was pierced and disheartened by senseless whirlwinds of despair and anguish. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I could only feel a tremendous intimidation inside myself. A vast, gloomy shadow couldn’t allow me to see beyond the horizon. I had no destination, and it seemed that I had no free choice to escape from that doomed fate of mine. The haze was so dense, and the night was so dark that I couldn’t find any portal to allow me to leave. I screamed to the stars, but they refused to listen to my voice, and I was cast away from their gaze for eternity. The everlasting darkness granted me the utmost agony, and sorrow lulled me to a deadly slumber. So much I cherished my dreams, nevertheless, they vanished into the ashes of decay. Solitude and loneliness had spellbound me with their sombre and mournful enchantment. In a mystic aura, I was viscously bound to a magical realm of lost spirits and wicked wraiths, which whispered their laments to my ears. I knew not who I had become and what my name was. So much confused and chaotic was the state of my heart that it sank deeply into the abyss of devastation. I fell into ecstasy and bliss, enjoying my obliteration and every cut inflicted upon my body. Wounded and frantic, I shed tears of pleasure and delight. My sobs and sighs broke the solemn silence that was my most loyal companion in that kingdom of death and mortification. Frenzy squished me, and madness shattered my heart. I embraced the bitter emptiness, hovering like an ethereal creature in search of witchy dungeons and secret forests. And there were no beginnings nor ends in the domain of the shallow melancholy. I remained suspended from ropes, which led me into my perpetual descent. And I lay there, claimed by the hereafter.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Seeking Dreams

    Seeking Dreams

    Seeking dreams in nowhere on a winter night with no stars but only a mystical fog and gloomy clouds. Not even a bird was flying in the leaden and dark sky. Only the clouds were gazing at me like curious observers, and the wind whispered legends of despair to me.

    I signed and dreamed of ocean floors paved with diamonds and stars. I fantasised about mermaids lost in submerged islands, and snow-capped waterfalls on remote cliffs. Time faded away when I was dreaming. Not even the impetuous cold rain could distract me from my nightdreaming.

    Foolishness never abandoned me, while I was consumed by my passionate longings, which brought me to the edge of the universe. Wonderful darkness enticed me, and I summoned my own demons and spirits, surrounded by exquisite midnight flowers.

    Folly and wisdom accompanied me in my everlasting journey to my hellish descent. Though I have visited heavens and abysses, boundless valleys and inaccessible mountains, I have always ended up at the very same point of origin, namely my ancient abyss of despair.

    Seeking dreams in nowhere on a frosty night with no glimmering lights but only a ghostly haze and dismal shadows. No living creature crept close to me, but only wraiths and eerie ghouls, which kept following me in every abode and realm I dwelled in.

    I foresaw my decay and the obliteration of all my dreams that I had sought for so long in vain. Drowning in the emptiness and losing my heart, that was a nightmare of mine, an incubus visiting my slumber. Arcane verses, evoking a magic spell, were carved on my body.

    Scarlet flowers adorned my hair that flowed on my face, while my tears of sorrow soaked the frozen soil. Nightmares and thorns poisoned my never-ending nights, tainting the sky with chaos. Numbed and mesmerised by swirling griefs that never hesitated to tarnish my keenness, I softly succumbed to my unavoidable demise.

    While seeking dreams, I harboured enemies in my soul, harming myself with obsessions that left scars all over my body. I had to renounce being myself and let the darkness swallow all my desires. In a realm of liminality, I was cast away and forced to endure agony.

    Abandoned in my dismay, I found no solace but to metamorphose into sadness. I became what I had feared the most, the very thing that had damaged my heart. I ended up in loneliness and madness, seeing my own reflection staring back at me in fractured and disfigured mirrors.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Upon The Petals Of Intoxicating Beauty

    Upon The Petals Of Intoxicating Beauty

    Upon the petals of intoxicating beauty, as if it were a marvellous flower, I found my haven of love and dreams. I lost touch with my wisdom and embraced my unconscious desires. Passionate as I was, perpetual flames scorched my heart, where all my most audacious secrets were embalmed.

    The winter storm came suddenly, and it made all my flowers fade to a haze of stardust. Love and dreams rumbled in my heart like thunderbolts. In stupor and wonder, I fell into an eternal slumber, in which I couldn’t suffer or feel despair. Frozen and benumbed, I became a part of a realm beyond time and space.

    Among stars and clouds, I could see the rainbow of my derealization. I was inflamed and frightened by my own trepidations. I attempted to convey my liberty from past chains, as they strove to bring me down into the abyss of misery. What could I have been in other realities I knew not, while I was lost in broken remembrances.

    The frigid breeze unleashed remembrances and released ancient phantoms from my early past. A vortex of emotions stirred inside me, emptying me of all my enigmas. I wished I could understand what was happening in that very moment. Nevertheless, stupor and hallucinations kept me from wisdom and sanity.

    I felt innocent and fierce, although a bitter dread attempted to fill my heart with infinite emptiness and anguish. I celebrated my resentful loneliness as a treasured gift very dear to me. Every feeling overwhelmed me, and I kept freezing. Every cherished devotion made me hide in the most remote haven.

    I started to talk to mirrors even when they were broken. Each mirror whispered words I didn’t wish to utter or hear. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t remember my past, since I had lost all connection to past ghouls. I couldn’t find out who I was and where I was. None of my questions had ever found their answer.

    Upon the petals of intoxicating beauty, as if it were a poison spell, I found my death and eternal doom. My fragility induced me to weep, and I screamed into the darkness of the inexhaustible night. My tears engraved every pang upon my face, running down like garnet streams.

    Thorns and brambles wrapped themselves around me delightfully, making me rejoice with euphoria and bliss. In the ecstasy of contrition and mortification, I found my utmost merriment. Lying helpless and disconsolate, I followed the trails of my reveries, hoping in vain to remember my name.

    I dreamed of exquisite flowers and sweet poisons. I fantasised about petals of intoxicating beauty, until dark shadows dragged me into the abyss of obliteration. I might have been cast into a realm of demise, where spirits and underworld creatures offered me festive and joyful torments.

    In dizziness and elation, I was struck by magical starlight and thunder. Upon the petals of intoxicating beauty, as if it were a marvellous flower, I was defeated and cast away. And lost in the labyrinth of my souvenirs, I could no longer distinguish delusional fantasies from my own ruin.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • I Fell In Love With My Demons

    I Fell In Love With My Demons

    I fell in love with my demons, and I wandered alone like a feral creature in the forest, feeling lust every time I tasted blood, suspended in the eternity of darkness. I was haunted and viciously allured by creatures of the night.

    I sought my reflection in broken mirrors adorned with bones and silver. However, I was never capable of seeing my countenance in them. My bed was a coffin, and my only devoted accomplices were evil ghouls and skulls.

    Every night, I drowned in the ocean of tears made of pain and anguish. The only light I could gaze upon was the crimson moonlight staring at me ferociously. As much as I tried to avoid my phobias and nightmares, they constantly terrified me in the shapes of shadows and ghosts.

    I mourned through the endless night over all the despair and distress I could no longer avoid. Exhaustion consumed me entirely. The most agonising fears penetrated my heart with their thorns like prickly brambles.

    I was perpetually entangled in ruinous dismay, and I was ensnared in a web of anguish and obsession. A burning flame overwhelmed my heart, devouring it. I was transformed into a spectre made of fire and frost.

    I fell in love with my nightmares, and I embraced all the pain I was destined to endure. My yearnings were my ruin, and I surrendered to their devastation. I didn’t fight against doom and decay anymore; I became them.

    I took advantage of my secret haven carved in ice and fire. Darkness didn’t scare me any longer, for I was made of gloom and shadows. Absurdity became my norm as I was altered into a complete oddity. I stood as a total aberration before mortal eyes.

    No creature could save me from that deadly and tainted chasm, where I finally embraced my most authentic essence. I fell in love with everlasting harm and obliteration. I rediscovered devotion and bliss in delirium and hallucinations.

    My utmost pleasure was losing my heart, which was impaled to death by the demons I cherished the most. I clasped my madness with a rope made of thorns and hooks. I sprawled on ashes and dust, sinking into an eternal slumber.

    Eternity and death were in me, as well as the steady necessity to sense distress. Pain was an exquisite gift that my evils offered to me. I transmuted to darkness and oblivion. I had no name, and no mirror could reflect my countenance.

    Obsession and tragedy were engraved in my flesh and bones. A deluge of frenzied festered into form, blooming like stone flowers. The eternal night welcomed me and revealed to me all its arcane secrets.

    The sound of solitude rumbled like a menacing roar. The only light shining over me was the crimson moonlight, soaked in remembrances and forbidden oaths. I fell in love with my demons and dismay. Every teardrop of mine became decay.

    Tormented ruins and relics emerged in the graveyard of my deceased dreams. The stars halted to shed light on me. Darkness became eternity and infinity.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Whimsical Chimaeras

    Whimsical Chimaeras

    Whimsical chimaeras blossomed in my garden of extravagant flowers and frenetic trees. When the silent valley of dreams was crammed with forbidden hopes, and the stars never hesitated to shine. It was my delusional fantasy and my secret inner world, where I could be free from mortal dogmas, made of aberrant rules.

    Many nights I have wandered, embracing my silliness and uncommon turmoil. Foolishness was my only state of mind, and every portal could unlock for me. I wept, and I sighed, as if it were my only way to express myself. The cold night wind hushed my aching heart, filling it with fear and torment.

    The snow painted the soil with white crystalline hues, while my slumber had kept my heart from aching more copiously. I had lost the capability to listen to melodies, but all that I could hear was a fanfare chanting death and defeat. My whimsical chimaeras had transformed into shadows and darkness.

    I had become a stranger in my own realm, which I couldn’t recognise any longer at all. I felt like I was stripped of all my delusional dreams, which I considered my only comfort and sweet haven. No candied flowers or chocolate-coated leaves prospered in my garden, which was now nothing but a land of frost and thorns.

    The reality had transmuted into a sharp dagger, depriving me of every longing, for I had lost my strength to escape from that snare of descent. Melancholia burnt my heart, transforming it into an everlasting torch. I encountered no compassion or tenderness, but pointed hooks that ripped me apart.

    My heart was wrapped in thorns and quills, and it bled copiously. Unbearable pangs crossed my body, reducing it to misery and dismay. Shallowness had taken over, and what appeared loudest and most false had replaced what was authentic and sublime.

    Darkness, together with the moon and the stars, was a cynical witness to every single occurrence. Silence had sealed my lips, and I was no longer able to make a single sound. Definitely, my whimsical chimaeras were just a remote memory of my shattered mind.

    I was already buried before dying. I was buried a long time ago by the hands of my delusional fantasies and absurd expectancies. I was conscious of my decay and that I would soon embrace my final demise. In that exquisite garden of bygone flowers, I lay in wait for my very last moment of life.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers appeared in all its majesty and magnificence, hiding arcane secrets and alluring spells of lost loves that were now just a scatter of dust and blood. My wicked heart had dragged me into the abyss of dismay where I had been pierced lusciously by devilish ghouls.

    In the certitude that no creature loved me but all that I could cherish was the despised portrait of my dreams, which had been buried alive in the graveyard of my luscious flowers. Sweet funeral melodies floated like a gentle winter breeze, making me melt like a snowflake under the sun.

    I huddled among the gravestones looking, for a trace of one of my flowers but I searched in vain because I found only slimy earth and ice. I could see shadows peeking out from the dry branches of dead trees, whose roots were soaked in despair and bones.

    An exquisite storm ripped me apart and stole my shattered heart, along with all my desires and dreams. I dared to chase all the stars of the night sky; nevertheless, I couldn’t find them because they were not there for me. I had altered into an ethereal entity. I wasn’t alive. I wasn’t dead.

    I fantasised about pointed shining swords and crimson incense, whenever a demon would seize me like a disposable porcelain doll. I wasn’t made of blood and bones anymore. I was a metaphysical creature made of turmoil and madness. Instead of a heart, I had an iron-made coffin.

    I embraced the realm of death and depravity, and like a fierce ghost, I hunted treasure chests with hearts locked inside. Because, I yearned for love and passion, like a flower in the desert craved water. I was an everlasting flame, and I was a frosty blizzard.

    I enjoyed being a wicked sorceress, ready to cast evil spells, and finding delight in my graveyard, confiding in my crows, skulls, and crimson roses. I amused myself by tasting sweet and bitter poisons and sipping the blood of my mortal prey. I swallowed nonsense and fire beneath the deep garnet moonlight.

    I was disdain and love. I was death and life. I was darkness and light. I was lust and virginity. I was madness and wisdom. I was corruption and purity. I was horror and beauty. I was cruelty and virtue. Everything lingered within me, and nothingness swirled like a tempest inside me as well.

    I was charred alive because of my foolish and insatiable lusts. Having no blood, flesh or bones, I was made only of fire and ice. Instead of a heart, I had an abyss of frenzy. My fondness for torture and stupor was infinite, like the oblivion of the universe.

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers was my agony and my bliss. All my blood had been splattered upon the stormy wind and all my bones had been reduced to ashes. My soul belonged entirely to the magical realm of demons and witches, and embracing the doom became my only dream.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Garden Of Oblivion

    The Garden Of Oblivion

    The garden of oblivion became my secret hideaway, where I could fall into total despair, crying out all my disillusionments. A garden of frozen flowers and broken mirrors unfolded before me. Fragments of broken mirrors sliced my heart into bleeding shards, which the moonlight illuminated with all its grace.

    I was a forsaken creature lost in my trail of lost passions and abandoned to my loneliness. I wandered like a dead soul without any aim to survive since I had lost all my treasures and nothing more was important to cherish. So, cast away from the other worlds, I sought haven in this surreal realm of my own invention.

    Love was a perfect stranger to me since my past existences, when utopian trees and flowers surrounded me all the time with their intoxicating scents and bright colours, leaving sweet caresses in my heart. In this age of shadows, I have become just a relic of myself.

    Lost in labyrinths inhabited by ghosts and wraiths who never hesitated to grab me with their claws sharp as merciless daggers. My madness grew each night quickly, as soon as I could stare into the gloomy emptiness of the ocean and scream at it with all my feral fury.

    Wandering infinitely among shards of broken mirrors and withered flowers, in the realm of shadows and dismay, was all that remained to me. I was a part of that world of doom and oblivion, although all that I desired was to be in an idyllic kingdom of delights and sparkling luminaries.

    The garden of oblivion possessed me like one of its creatures, having lost my heart, which had disappeared into the abyss of death, while I cried tears made of blood and sorrow. My tragic fate had deprived me of everything, and no longing was evermore granted to me.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Dreams And Tears

    Dreams And Tears

    Dreams and tears, in an age when night knew no end
    I dreamed while crying, my tears steeped in infamous bruises
    I was a sorceress obsessed with luscious crimson flowers
    I was the most impure and tainted blossom in the garden of the eternal night
    Where I envisioned dirty fantasies and sensual chimaeras
    I had become possessed by darkness and obsessions
    My longings morphed into moths and biting incubi

    My obsessions devoured me in their dim realm of seduction and destruction
    I lay naked upon the wet and frozen earth
    Powerless as I was in front of the immensity of an ocean of nonsense and decadence
    Secluded in my alcove of madness, I passed my nights among nightmares
    Born to be the victim of my own insanity
    When petals of frenzy pierced me like tiny daggers of folly
    Opening the portal to an obscure realm whose knowledge devastated me permanently
    I was shattered and not willing to see my own reflection in mirrors

    I felt the full weight of my anguish on my chest
    As if a lustful spectre rested viciously upon my body
    While the snow caressed me, as if it were its purpose to soothe my languid soul
    My tears never left my face, descending onto the frozen soil and making blossom flowers of fire and darkness
    The crimson moon cast faint glimmers across the night sky
    Amid the chaos, the luminaries emerged in the shape of sparkling gems
    And the firmament echoed my name through the stygian abyss

    Sulfurous and gloomy clouds concealed all the stars, enveloping the night in total murkiness
    All my dreams were burnt, and their ashes were buried beneath my gravestone
    I became infinite, and nothingness as well, surrounded by fiery flowers and pearls of blood
    The everlasting flame within my heart was untamed and filthy, like a feral creature
    And the night penetrated me utterly like a vicious blade, leaving me in absolute stupor.
    Elisabetta Esther

© Esther Racah 2026. All rights reserved.