Issuu

Eros Blinding Athena Emma Knaack

you get to decide what all this means…

Table of Contents The Deterioration of Self 1 ~ Enter at Your Own Risk 2 ~ Unlock 3 ~ Buzzing Nonsense 4 ~ Her Name is Longing 5 ~ Ijya and the Burning of Herself 6 ~ The Perfect Imperfection 7-8 ~ Butterflies 9 ~ Why Won’t the Pain(t) Wash Away?

The Resurrection of Awareness Lurking Within Beauty ~ 13 Who Dun It? The Case of the Knife and Pain ~ 14 Years and Years Ago, A Year Was But A Name ~ 15 The Eternal Waiting Room ~ 16 Satan ~ 17 Negligence ~ 18 Crossing the Sea of Blood ~ 19-20 Don’t Eat Paint ~ 21

The Deterioration of Self

Enter at Your Own Risk Enter at your own risk For the drawbridge of the relationship is triggered by the fears one tries to repress And the harder you try The more savage they become Enter at your own risk For the knights of the body take no prisoners The dungeons of the mind are far too dark for anyone to survive Besides the guard Herself Enter at your own risk For the snakes of the soul are fierce contenders Be careful not to appear too meek For they feast on the timid mice of the world Enter at your own risk For the mystery of the heart remains unsolved Although many have tried to uncover the riddle that stumps them all The fall of defeat brings them each to their end Enter at your own risk

Unlock Communication is key So, for me, the door stays locked I need someone with a spare To come and set me free

Buzzing Nonsense I don’t think anyone has ever truly listened to me A lot of times, I feel like I’m shrouded by others You know when a bee flies to you Buzzing nonsense in your ear And then you scream and swat it away But the bee was just trying to find someone to listen And you seemed like you would But you betrayed it Scared of a tiny stinger When stinging you is their last defense before death So when a bee comes to me to share their thoughts, I listen The first look we give each other gives us everything we need to know We recognize that we are two sides of the same sword, hidden within its sheath I know it won’t sting me And it knows how it feels to be swatted away The bee thinks I’m a flower, so the least I can do Is provide it with the sweet nectar of listening

Her Name is Longing Carved with love And hollowed out with tears Her name is longing Fired with wrath And varnished with beauty Her name is longing The hands that sculpted her Have since left her side Leaving nothing but a handprint of glaze She reaches out to her creator Longing for the day Someone loves her like that again

Ijya and the Burning of Herself Assigned at discovery with the name of Sun But she always preferred Ijya It’s not like she would ever hear anyone call her by this name But she liked to think she still had some control over her life Whoever it was Whether the big bang or the devil himself Cursed her to this life of torture Damned to burn forever in the depths of the universe Sure, most days kill her As she floats endlessly in the galaxy Scorching anything that tries to find comfort in her warmth Exhaustion consuming her as she embraces the flames each day But, they’re alive They’re alive because of her Although she cannot see them She knows she’s giving them life So, Ijya burns herself Day in and day out How could a mother smother the existence of her young When all she must do is make a small sacrifice of herself?

The Perfect Imperfection With each touch Of someone’s love A piece of the skin, rubs off With more loving Comes more rubbing Leaving skin scorned with scars Oh the craving inside me To be covered in scars as such To prove to the world that I can be loved But my skin lies perfect Undamaged by the caress of another A damage I wish to conceal Each night, as I lie in bed My nails find their way to my flesh Peeling back at the trophy of my loneliness In the morning, I will have the scars To prove the triumphs of affection But each night, I must face the pain of rejection

Butterflies They land on my being Finding comfort in the warm glow of my skin But I can’t provide for them As the trembling of myself leads them away Why? Why couldn’t I be enough? My deficiencies owe these beautiful creatures An armed butterfly swoops towards me Sanctifying the sacrifice I must make The knife glides around me Spreading blood like fairy dust I cut the fingers Chop Chop I cut the hands Chop Chop

I cut the arms

Chop Chop

I cut the toes

Feet Legs Ears Nose Eyes Head Chop Chop

The remains of the inadequate lay together A pile of useless parts So, like a sculptor, I take this clay, purposeless and disposable And mend it into something No longer will the butterflies be scared away by her So easily moved by the voices inside of her Now, they can rest easily On the lifeless earth of her remains

Why Won’t the Pain(t) Wash Away? Let me join you In the world of the observer Let me wash off this paint That makes you see me as a masterpiece Let me tell you that I am nothing close Longing for the day I can be free of this frame Let me step out of this canvas Walk alongside you as an equal Let me wash off this paint Why won’t it come off? LET me wash it off WHY isn’t it coming off?? why…

The Resurrection of Awareness

Lurking Within Beauty Driving through the murkiness of a foggy day When I’m suddenly covered in a soft canopy of fall trees I don’t know what it was, but the beauty was almost overwhelming Bringing me to tears for my inadequacies in the presence of such eloquence The rest of the day, I could not but think about the fall trees The next time I drove through them was at night This time, I was not brought to tears with beauty, but rather fear The dark night brings a sinisterness to everything it touches And so did these trees acquire such I don’t know what it was, but the lurking unknown was overwhelming Bringing me to tears for what I knew was hiding within The next day I drove to the trees I came to see they had lost their beauty No more did they possess their magnificent colors and strong leaves But they seemed to retreat within themselves As if my wonder had fueled their beauty and fear had drained it

Who Dun It? The Case of the Knife and Pain The knife tries to deny its involvement It would like to see the blood try and make a case against it But it’s not the blood it should worry about The hand revolts, throwing the knife under the bus It really thought it could trust the hand, but that was the first mistake For the hand made a deal with the arm And the arm made a deal with the torso And the torso made a deal with the brain And the brain was always the one in control Now the knife must answer for its sins Which is hard to do when the sins have been passed down to you Stained with blood at each stop

Years and Years Ago, A Year Was But a Name It seems like forever ago When I went by so much slower When I lasted forever And I didn’t worry others I remember when the people I tended for Talked of living eternally Because that’s what I made them feel But something in them changed And subsequently, so did I Now they worry They worry they won’t have enough of me to do what they really want And that makes me worry because I don’t want them to leave feeling as though they didn’t accomplish anything because that’s not true and without them I would be nothing but a concept floating through space instead they’re the ones giving me meaning and I don’t want that to end but it seems as each of them get older and they speak of their disappointment in me I can’t help but wonder how soon it will be before they abandon me

The Eternal Waiting Room Glistening in the eyes of the meek it rolls into their forethought in a raging fury intended on cascading to their depths to deliver the fateful blow and soon enough it’s there but why must they conform to its will for their demise when they know it will happen no matter what So the tormented wait With a terrifying stare Revealing a void the size of fear

Satan Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Pushed by the creator you once loved Your passion burned too bright Blinding the affection He once had How could a father abandon his child When he suddenly became too much to hold? Shouldn’t the creator of the universe Be able to carry just a little bit more? Now, although you must live with the burden of this You can reign as the king you’ve always known yourself to be His sheep are now your own As you give them the care their shepherd failed to bestow

Negligence it’s hard to take care of something you can’t find and that’s the issue i have with my inner child it reminds me of this one time when i was babysitting and the kid wanted to play hide-and-seek of course i obliged but after a little too long of seeking i started to freak out i couldn’t find this five-year-old that i was supposed to be protecting with my life and it felt just like when i lost my own child but that game is still going on to this day luckily i found the kid i was watching and i banned her from playing hide-andseek with me ever again if only i had done the same all those years ago i guess it makes the job a little easier though when you’re put in charge of watching something and it’s not even there you really just get to relax but then there’s the issue of the parents coming home and asking where their kid is and you just have to lift your shoulders up with a little “idk” and that’s the moment when your charged with child negligence if that’s the case, why don’t we do the same when people lose their inner child i lost her so long ago and so far no parent has showed up with a warrant for my arrest am i the parent in this situation though should I be arresting myself for the abandonment of this child but i’m also the one doing the abandoning so that complicates things a little i guess i’ll just sit on this nice satin couch and watch tv on the flat screen until the upper class parents come home asking for their child

Crossing the Sea of Blood Look out at the sea The water gone, replaced with the warm blood of human life The lives you’ve killed Maybe not literally But ones you’ve hurt enough To make death seem more attractive than life Our question for you is: Can you cross this sea? Can you cross it without drowning? Your lungs filling with the soft liquid of your victims Cradling you as you are carried down into its depths Dropping you at the bottom, in a world beneath those you harmed We’ve seen you try many a times As you writhe in pain at the thought of your sins The waves pull you below the surface You stare into the eyes of the casualties you brought to this world Their eyes are what get you, what suffocates you the most For they whisper your tragedies to the world and beyond You almost made it last time But as you pushed against the current of blood and gazes You saw them The eyes you couldn’t ignore The eyes which reached out, grabbing your neck, and strangled your already drowning body

It seems this time though, you think you’re ready You blindfold yourself before diving in To erase your eyes from the torture of their stares Crossing the sea of blood while ignoring your sins is a difficult task A part of us hopes you make it, to right the wrongs you’ve done But to some, watching you drown could be fun

Don’t Eat Paint Paint doesn’t taste good Although what can you expect From something that covers up beautiful things Like the memories of my childhood bedroom But does it not also create beautiful masterpieces? So how can something that makes art taste so bad? But I guess it also does it’s damage by covering up other beauties So, this evil could be the root of such bad taste

What is truly evil?

Is the shading of beauty such a sin?

Maybe it’s the lack of beauty like that

Possessing the paint

And refusing to touch the canvas

So is it the lack of action

Or the taking of it to be punished?

But must evil be punished?

And if so, who will be the one doing such punishing?

What will be the punishment?

Is there a punishment big enough for sin?

Maybe I should stop eating paint

Author Bio Emma Knaack is a sophomore professional writing and creative writing major minoring in business administration with an honors and teaching English language learners concentration at the University of Indianapolis. She is Etchings magazine’s submissions editor for issue 34.2, editorial assistant for Indy Her Campus, and a member of Phi Alpha Epsilon. In her free time, she enjoys thrifting, reading manga, watching anime, and listening to Korean and Japanese music.

Cover Image from Samuel H. Kress Collection