Memento Mori Poem Novels & Stories

"You're being blinded by revenge, Kiddo. If that thing continues to urge you, you might end up dying in the long run." Blanche shut her eyes as she brought herself back to reality. "Memento Mori," She murmur as she imagine the target paper to be the person she wanted to annihilate at the moment. She pulls the trigger of her handgun to release the last bullet of it. "Do you really think that I am still alive? My body's irking to die, but, it seems like my physical appearance is the one's only living in this kind of place. My being already died, a long time ago. Not physically though." She utters as she slowly removes her goggles and ear muffs.

My breathing became abnormal when the memories started to roll in. That night. I can never forget what happened. I can still feel the burning sensation in my back when he had caused me a bruise. my helpless cries and pleas. I could hear them all over again. I could hear them like it was happening in front of me. I closed my eyes to deprive myself of the illusions but it didn’t help. His face was all I could see. His words still resonated in my ears and I tried to shake my head from all of those haunting memories.

His intentions might have even been true and besides, who was I to resent a facade, my whole life was a symbol of it. "Each rana mattatu, I would light a candle for them." He spoke wistfully but I was too busy repeating his words, 'the day of the dead.' I had never heard about it. "It would be nice to do that for mine sometime. Dead or not, they only require that we never forget."

Worth the echo within For getting hurt It is no more new to me It is no more strange to me The search for money From floor to floor Makes me crazy Damn, it is this My dedications My indisputable Life's achievement After great efforts Pain, pain and only pain Remains I must die I feel at times Why live Why live But then I now count Suicide a sin But am I still not Being dying Each day, by hurt in it Some new disease In me Shown so bright My inability To compete With my life's misfit Am I not dying Or approaching death Closer and clearer Each day appears My end Am I not dying With pain in the chest With the inability to compete With sorrows, I have met Dead past too Unfortunately It is not dea

Nor do the heedless in the throng, One thought beyond the morrow give, They court the feast, the dance, the song, Nor think how short their time to live. The heart that bears deep sorrow’s trace, What earthly comfort can console, It drags a dull and lengthened pace, ‘Till friendly death its woes enroll. The sunken cheek, the humid eyes, E’en better than the tongue can tell; In whose sad breast deep sorrow lies, Where memory’s rankling traces dwell.The rising tear, the stifled sigh, A mind but ill at ease display, Like blackening clouds in a stormy sky, Where fiercely vivid play. Thus when souls’ energy is dead, When sorrow dims each earthly view, When every fairy, hope is fled, We bid the un

I didn't strike it; I Embraced it. I flooded the Sentient Memory with the sensation of Mortality. I showed the indigo light what it feels like to be tired. I showed it the beauty of a sunset that will never be seen again. I showed it the taste of a honey-cake shared with a friend. I showed it the salt of a tear shed for a lost brother. The First Drop—a material of infinite, sterile time—couldn't hold the "Entropy of Love." The indigo sphere began to vibrate with a violent, beautiful frequency. It didn't explode; it Evaporated.

I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon. -Anaïs Nin. |L O R E N Z O| I remember, I keep remembering and there is nothing more tragic than this. To remember. When you know there is nothing left other than the memories, you remember. The one your mind forces you to live again and again.

The evening breeze was gentle, carrying the fresh scent of early summer plants growing. In the courtyard below, children laughed and ran around. Elderly residents strolled leisurely. Life flowed on in its most ordinary and solid form. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air. The three months after Arya's death, which had been full of her family's scheming, were like a long, oppressive nightmare. Thankfully, I had woken up. Wounds would scab over, pain would fade, and the lessons I learned would stay with me, making me stronger and wiser going forward. Night fell, and the city lights came on. I went back inside and turned on the lights. Warm illumination instantly filled the ent

I giggled and sank into the tidal wave of his love. The night stretched long, and so would our happiness. Not long after, I became pregnant. When Caleb and I visited our new villa, we saw Thomas and Juliet tending flowers in the park. Their old clothes were streaked with dirt. Adrian was nearby, drunk in broad daylight, with a crying baby beside him. Under the scorching sun, their former pride had long since vanished. Seeing me, they hastily pulled on their masks and hurried away with Adrian. Their aging figures were the very picture of desolation.

They began to be more biased toward her, until I couldn't even feel a sliver of affection from them. When Yvonne fell seriously ill later, she became even weaker and pitiable. They poured all their effort into saving her life. With so many years of attachment, they couldn't bear to let her go. And so, for her sake, they drove me to such a tragic end. Mom plopped down in the pool of blood. Her clothes were soaked crimson, but she didn't care. Over and over again, she cried out in despair, "Whitney! Please give her back to me! I'm really sorry!"