how do you walk across the universe?
as if you're not carrying the weight of the world
across your shoulders.
how do you move through the stars?
as if you're not weighed down
by the iron shackles binding your feet.
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC
watch as your whole world crumbles.
the air you breathe turns to gold.
and you choke as it forces its way
down your throat and into your lungs.
tell me midas, was it worth it?
that midas touch.
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 7:47 AM UTC
ingredients | serves: 1
three nights spent in a haze wrapped around each other before the fog lifted and clarity chased the glow away
five soft smiles that were lost in the limbo between want and need
two hundred and eighty four barely-there, feather-light caresses, stolen while they were asleep
two sets of heartbeats in sync with each other
one hundred and twelve sweet nothings whispered under the safety net of darkness
one song sung to you as they nursed you back to health, already stripped and chopped
four cups of air you’ve breathed into each other
seventy two fleeting moments in which you looked up at their face and you felt your stomach churn
four tablespoons of the sweat that dripped from your bodies and seeped into the sheets that first night you touched
two willing bodies
one heart
directions | preparation: 8 months
step one
gather one of the two bodies and prop it up against the wooden chair.
step two
grab the remaining body and lean it against the doorway.
step three
don’t say anything. don’t break the spell. don’t ruin the recipe. you only have one chance at this.
step four
set the temperature to slow burn for three weeks and let it simmer.
step five
once you feel the fire in your veins hot enough to melt glass, the burning in your fingers strong enough to leave a mark, and the bubble in your throat threatening to burst, imagine yourself in a block of ice and swallow up the words that try to slip past your lips. i love you. note: do not let them out.
step six
finely crush the seventy two moments where your stomach had a mind of its own. do not let it show. you can’t afford to waste those moments.
step seven
mix in the the barely-there caresses and for each lost smile, stir for an additional week, because that’s how long you’ll be thinking of them before you even realise how much space they’ve taken up inside your mind.
step eight
pour the cups of the air you’ve shared into a blender for three nights, then mix in the sweat, and place in the fridge to chill. never let them thaw. do not hurt yourself by reminiscing.
step nine
place the heart in your hands and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the blood spills onto the broken chopping board that is your rib cage and then throw it away. an empty heart serves no purpose.
step ten
say your prayers and hope for the best.
you wanted a love potion, didn’t you?
you’re in luck, this will only cost your soul.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
I want to eat ambrosia
from your fingertips.
I want to lick the wine
from your lips.
I want to **** the nectar
from your veins.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
you’re standing in front of the mirror
that’s still foggy from the steam from the shower
that’s been running for almost 48 minutes
and you can’t seem to pull away
your hair’s unwashed and your skin is sickly and pale
you can’t even look yourself in the eye
you run your hands down your face
feeling the bruising around your eyes
you run your hands down your throat
feeling the burns the rope left behind
you run your hands down your chest
feeling the skin that will never look the same as before
you run your hands down your legs
feeling the ghosts of hands clawing at you
when you look back into the mirror
you don’t recognise the woman staring back
you're the empty shell of a woman
who lost the war
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
Imagine, if you will, a boy. A boy with dark hair and soft, pretty eyes framed by long lashes. And you want this boy. You want to reach inside him, pull out his still-beating heart, and swallow it whole. You want to peel off his skin, inch by inch, crawl inside of it, and never let go. You want to pull him apart, limb by limb, until you've studied every inch of him. You want him to put his hands inside you. Deep down into parts of yourself you forgot existed. You want him to soothe the ache he left in your chest.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
Do you remember the girl with the electric touch? As she placed her hand on the back of your neck, she breathed undiscovered galaxies into your lungs. Do you remember when she traced constellations across your back, and named each one for you. Do you remember when she reached inside of you and plucked the flowers that sprouted from the stardust she left behind, and weaved them into your hair.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
I do not worship your human gods.
Do not presume to know me.
My gods are my own.
I do not care for your burning woman.
‘Great Prophet’ ‘Lady Redeemer’ ‘Bride of the Maker’
She is nothing to me.
The Circles stripped us of our beliefs.
Unfamiliar names on our tongues,
Like poison forced down our throat.
You expect us to bow so easily?
You are arrogant in thinking you were the first.
We have bled for our land for centuries.
Our cities were burnt to the ground.
And you built upon the ash,
Without a second thought.
And you wonder why we rebelled?
Do not make the same mistake again.
We are not forgiving.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
the mortals have found a new god.
our strength is wavering,
flickering,
soon to be extinguished.
like a forgotten match,
left to burn.
our souls ignite into an uncontrollable fire.
ruined temples and desecrated graves.
destruction follows them,
like flames licking at the remnants of an old age
as the ash settles around us.
burn them all.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
It ends with a scream.
A scream that echoes across the entire city.
She doesn’t sink to her knees.
She collapses.
It’s not beautiful.
It’s heartbreaking and raw.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC