It seems that I am physically incapable of cleaning without unearthing random scraps of writing in the process. Things that I no longer even remember writing. At all.
This is one of last night’s more interesting bits (edited slightly as I typed it up). I still have no idea.
here is the thing:
i can be just
as cruel as you.
will let you destroy me,
if it means that destroying me
will destroy you, too
we will go down
sprays of blood and heavy
words breaking teeth into
feral-sharp points and
bone, stripped, bare.
Ah, brain. You bizarrely random little thing, you.
And speaking of monstrous little bits of writing… Post #5 is now up at Fires in the Walls!
And it occurs to me sometimes that I really did spawn from monsters.
I just wish that this actually translated into something badass, like the Hydra or Jörmungandr.
(And yes, I really am that much of a nerd, that this is how I react. :P)
my heart is still
i am already done
with winter, with
coverings and layers
and cold, cold
snow has nothing on
skirts swirling over
bare thighs, or shoved
carelessly up them
and i do not want to be wrapped
in anything but you.
(is it strange to say i am
almost jealous of winter,
for stealing the shivering
that should come from my
own hands, over your skin.)
Happy December first, loves!
(Originally posted here on my new Tumblr. ♥)
you are beautiful
heart-shaped lips and heart
on the sleeve of your soft cream coat
i find myself staring, openly
at your face and wondering
if you will look over
and notice me too
and what i would say if you do.
because you are beautiful and i
demand perfection, you see;
if those heart-shaped lips part
it must be to spill only
the most precise things
and you must understand every word
spoken back to you in turn, even if
those words come spewing in a water-rush
so fast that you could drown.
you must know every syllable as a molecule
and still see the scope of them as a sea.
you must cherish every word you are gifted
or my own teeth will still your words
inside your throat, before they rise
and spit them on the ground
in a spattering of blood.
i will not forgive a flaw.
because the girl on the train beside me
at eight-something am
i recognise as the lover of
my onceuponatime best friend.
and even now, after all
these years and years and
our happilyeverafter gone awry
that best friend still feels like my blood
and i would still spill anyone’s for her
before another heartbeat could pass.
and so for all our sakes
i hope like hell you are
as perfect as you seem.