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animafugiens
animafugiens
18/M a longing for fervor and fire.
a wicked, unrighteous child's mind lies closer to the truth than a noble graybeard's ever will & here is that only, hideous verity: death has the body of a boy. an ocherous-haired boy, sylphlike, unearthly, peerless and other word to forbear from writing 'beautiful'. guiltless people do not know that. 'irradiating one, let me hold you', he says, and i let him. i can recall swearing, palms pressed together and liquid lungs settled at the bottom of a bathroom sink, never to allow to be eaten again because that is what holding someone is for; (guiltless people do not know that.) be that as it may, i let him. forgiveness was never suited for me, anyway. there can be no fallacy; no fraud can remain a fraud once they are birdlimed by a fire-stricken embrace. a mindless prey is what they become. a devourer is what he always was. guiltless people do not know that. my eyelids will not yet sink over my pupils, not until his hidden claws, ribboning and shredding their way out of his unsoiled skin, turn my neck into bloodbath, my heart into maelstrom. what a blessed, glory-driven way to meet death.
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Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 8:15 PM UTC
the truth in being guilty and aware.
a child stands before you begging to devour your wit praying to steal your eyes. he is looking at you, he who no longer has a body no longer has a voice, he who was made translucent, he is looking through you and howls his white-hot heart: 'how does one live, how can one love, if one feels no anguish? first, there lies death; then, a massacre of void-kissed beliefs. and then, only then, can there be life which bears little importance.' the sage muse of tragedy holds in her forgiving palm the secret of your divine-poisoned sap, she kisses your bones; tied together by vine branches born from the hands of fervid dionysus. you hear her inside your skin: 'i know how weary your throat is of singing (screaming) the same hymns. dip them in terror, see them drip with slaughter and doom and ablaze cries and a long-forgotten deity’s roar and —' the last words die off between your soiled fingers, on the bloodstained ground.
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Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 11:36 PM UTC
a boy longs for an ending and meets melpomene