Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: Psychological

  • Avid Rage

    Avid Rage

    Avid rage ignited the fire like an everlasting flame,
    Old betrayals resurfaced like phantoms,
    Faces once familiar twisted into enemies,
    Every whispered word, a dagger in the heart,
    The weight of unfairness crushed the spirit.

    In the depths of the night, anger roared,
    A tempest unleashed within the soul,
    It surged like a tidal wave, relentless,
    Crashing against the shores of reason,
    Each throbbing was a reminder of wounds unhealed.

    In the quietness, rage painted the walls,
    Bright strokes of fury marked the silence,
    Every flicker of light became a reminder,
    Of the darkness that brewed in the shadows,
    A bluster of voices echoed in the mind.

    Beneath the skin, a wild creature lay waiting,
    Coiled tight, ready to strike,
    With every heartbeat, the tension mounted,
    Breath quickened, fueled by resentment,
    The soul was a battlefield of longing and despair.

    Each encounter felt like a betrayal,
    A trust broken, shards scattered on the cold soil,
    Hope faded beneath the weight of anger,
    As happiness turned to bitter silence,
    And compassion crumbled to dust in the storm.

    The world appeared in shades of crimson,
    Passions ignited with every injustice faced,
    The heart, a furnace, churned and boiled,
    Eager to destroy all that stood in its way,
    Devouring peace, leaving only ashes.

    Although amidst the chaos, a flicker of longing emerged,
    Suspicion whispered through the haze,
    What lay beneath the seething rage?
    A sorrow deep-rooted in longing and loss,
    The ache for harmony, the fear of sequestration.

    Even when the rage began to wane,
    Replaced by the weight of unspoken pain,
    Underrated fury danced on the edge of a garden of bleeding roses,
    Transforming every soft glow into violent flames,
    A reminder of everlasting anger.

    As dawn broke, the tempest flourished,
    Leaving behind silent destruction,
    An inextinguishable blaze burning the void,
    Rising from the ashes of that avid rage,
    And embracing the darkness that swallowed the storm.

    Avid rage lingered like a spectre in the emptiness,
    Its echoes never faded, never entirely dimmed,
    A reminder of the chasms every spirit could reach,
    And the infinite journey that awaited beyond the everlasting and eternal flames,
    Just in that garden of bleeding roses.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Watcher In The Void

    The Watcher In The Void

    The watcher in the void exists beyond the reach of darkness and light. A shadow crawls—no, creeps—through cracks unseen, where time crumbles and whispers dissolve into nothingness. A hollow and vast eye looms through the endless darkness, constant and unblinking. The pulse of something unknown shudders through the air, a rhythm that defies reason. Has it begun? Will it ever end? The gaze of the watcher in the void pierces through the walls of sanity, unravelling the fabric of reality with a slow, deliberate stare.

    Breath lingers, suspended between worlds that will never merge. The air itself quivers as the void inhales thoughts, exhaling fragments of something twisted and dark. The ground shifts, a subtle tremor beneath unseen steps. Silence hums with tension, and the watcher in the void lingers just beyond the edge of perception. It watches—always watching—staring indefinitely at the infinite abyss of the universe.

    The void is endless—there is no beginning or end—only the infinite eye of the watcher in the void, which never closes and never tyres. Memories scatter like dust, ephemeral and insubstantial, fading into oblivion. Time loops in strange patterns, distorted, lost in the eternal gaze of something ancient, something incomprehensible.

    Echoes drift through the silence, faint and distorted, as if carried from a distant, forgotten realm. The watcher in the void is there, always present, with tendrils of existence coiling through unseen spaces, tightening, constricting, and squeezing until only fragments remain. The eye never wavers, never falters, holding everything in a relentless stare that knows no mercy.

    A scream fades into nothingness, consumed by the void, looping back into itself. The watcher in the void remembers all—every thought, every moment—caught in the never-ending cycle of its gaze. The void is eternal, and the watcher endures, bound to the emptiness, forever seeing, forever waiting. Nothing and no one can escape this lethal and cruel stare, not even the stars.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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