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She’s fierce in the way that she takes- stoic face, with eyes like the reddened sun. Glossy and deep, leading to two trenches on her cheeks, that could swallow you whole if need be. Like it’s the only way you can breathe, like it’s the only way that you can see. Sea tides fall…
It is unsightly the days you visit. Unwelcomed and perturbed, but invigorating it is. Your jealousy rearing its ugly head at my ephemeral bliss, your claws are never subtle. They are beautiful and ragged, jarring scratches on my heart. It is you dragging me by the roots of my hair, leaving my toes barely grazing…
Twenty five years and what have you done? You are still just a little girl, a little girl afraid of the world. Terrified of being lost, invisible to the world that already doesn’t know who you are. You do not exist to them, and it’s so pitiful you think so. When I see you- …
I am burdened by the thought of you, you with your four-letter word, pinpricks under the skin. It is calamus and brine. No real appeal to the endearment aside from the fact that you rip the soul apart- limb from limb. You are a fate worse than death. Holding figures on red threads, the promise of that…
For both of us… We just seemed to act like nothing happened, like what we had didn’t exist; and I realized it was easier that way. It was easier to act as if we weren’t one, like we didn’t live on the same plane of existence- didn’t care about the miles that were clogged…
He had hands of burnished mahogany- kept that palm lodged round my throat; digits piercing skin, leaving my veins prickling. You did it for the burn, sudden power rush, and oh, how I just loved to watch your eyes darken. You held me, propped my body between sheet cuffs, sending me right over the…
I’ve been dreaming of you again darling- of your sharp blades, your crass edges eating up my longevity. How easy it always is succumbing to that sliver of servility you gift me with. Nobody makes me crave pain quite like you do.
life is such a fickle thing with Her obsidian talons sinking round Your heart threading into arteries the prospect of Death looming over you Why would anyone want this
The prospect of time always teases me around this period of the year. Another age is becoming of me, it’s never exciting. There are bonds in these little numbers that hold our life together, a prisoner to these fates. Even when I was younger it never made me smile, why is that? Why…
Your body Hurts me as the world hurts God. – Sylvia Plath I’ve always loved a brute, brute of a man like you With your razor-sharp tongue, crystals in your veins The hand housing icicles, eager to impale
You’d have done it anyways. You only come back to me when the Tides fall flat, and when the Moon departs. You’re gone just as quickly as She resurfaces.
They say the rain will stop soon. I imagine this ground swallowed up by sunlight, and I become infinitely jealous. I am but a speck of dust in this lowly world, vanishing with rain, thwarting back down to nothing. I live for you like the sun lives for the moon.
I crave perpetuity. So much so, that I come to you in the form of nectar; a jar of tenacity- viscidity- long strips of flattery and dabbles of desire. I offer you seduction mixed with a sting that you return with disdain. You loved those animated creatures, the ones who fill me…
How was I supposed to know it wouldn’t have turned out like that- that you would never love me. You took that fickle little piece of passion, and melded it into her. A fragment, she is. Nothing more than processed lithography. But you loved that dirt and grime, ached for that flush…
Quote:
“There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don’t work.”
– Anaïs Nin, Henry and June
Éloa 