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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

lightning flashes and thunder roars.
people scatter like livestock.
it’s hard to forget who rules the sky.

waves reach their crescendo
and crash onto the rocks by the beach.
it’s hard to forget who rules the sea.

the riverman guides souls across styx for a price.
weeping souls and anguished cries.
it’s hard to forget who rules the underworld.

i have five things to tell you and i want you to listen carefully*

1. you are not your mother.
         you are nothing like her.
                  you know this, you know this, you know this.

2. you are not the problem.
        you are the solution.
                  you know this, you know this, you know this.

3. you are not weak for hurting.
        you are stronger for it.
                  you know this, you know this, you know this.

4. you are not a mistake.
        you are the miracle.
                  you know this, you know this, you know this.

5. you are not nothing.
        you are everything.
                  you know this, you know this, you know this.

pretty girl with her head in a book,
trapped inside a silver tower,
dreaming of places that don’t exist.

handsome man with his heart on his sleeve,
trapped inside his mind,
dreaming of his daughter that doesn't exist.

gorgeous city filled with gorgeous people,
happy smiles and happy laughs.
it’s a lie and they know it.

handsome man tries to save pretty girl
but she’s already saved herself,
with the help of her dreams of places that don’t exist.

songbird comes along and they don’t know what to do.
handsome man wants to **** him. destroy him. end him.
pretty girl feels songbird’s sadness and cries for him.

handsome man can’t bear to see pretty girl cry,
so he lets songbird go.
pretty girl smiles and handsome man can’t breathe.

pretty girl and handsome man discover the city together.
from the seedy underground fight clubs
to the high society tea parties.

handsome man doesn't fit in at tea parties.
pretty girl seems to blend right in.
handsome man’s eyes never leave her.

pretty girl feels his eyes on her and
she turns away to hide her cheeks turning a dusty pink.
pretty girl doesn't look him in the eye anymore.

songbird comes back and tries to take pretty girl.
handsome man sees red and kills him.
pretty girl’s heart mourns for songbird.

pretty girl spits words at him like knives,
he flinches as they cut him.
handsome man doesn't look her in the eye anymore.

pretty girl wants him to leave.
handsome man walks away and doesn't look back.
pretty girl lied.

handsome man finds himself
back in the seedy undercity.
bloodied knuckles, broken nose and a black eye.

pretty girl finds herself
wandering the city’s streets,
wishing handsome man was there.

pretty girl finds him in the gutter
with blood running down his face.
he still looks handsome.

handsome man struggles to speak.
blood seeping from between his lips
and his broken teeth.

handsome man tells pretty girl he can’t bear to see her cry.
pretty girl cries even more.
handsome man isn’t handsome anymore.

handsome man dies in pretty girl’s arms.
this isn’t how the stories go.
she was supposed to save him.

pretty girl is on a warpath.
handsome man would hate to see her now.
dark red lips and an unforgiving gaze.

pretty girl is tired.
she hates what she’s become.
she wants to see handsome man.  

pretty girl dies in a back alley
with a gun in her hand, pressed to her head.
pretty girl isn’t pretty anymore.

pretty girl, pretty girl, with your head in the clouds,
haven’t you read the stories? don’t you know?
the handsome man always dies.

handsome man, handsome man, with your love in your eyes.
haven’t you read the stories? don’t you know?
the pretty girl never survives.

pretty girl, handsome man,
don’t you know?
the heroes fall and the city falls with them.

i.

you are the land
unrelenting and wild
pure instinct and jagged claws
you are free

ii.

you are a hunter
born to lead
and born to die
you will rise again

iii.

you are a goddess
beautiful and strong
proud and unashamed
you are fearless

iv.

you are a typhoon
wild and unapologetic
a beautiful disaster
you are destruction

v.

you are a volcano
spitting hellfire and curses
sharp claws and unabashed ferocity
you will burn

vi.

you are the current
running through our veins
deadly and alluring
you are death

they look like ravens,
their sharp, curved beaks,
piercing gazes with hidden eyes
that lie behind the mask

they smell faintly of dried flowers,
but the lingering scent of death
that surrounds them completely
can never be rid of

i want to fight,
i want to resist,
i want to hurt,
because i trust you

i want to feel your hand
as it closes tightly
around my wrists in warning,
because i trust you

i want to feel small
and surrounded
by you completely,
because i trust you

i want to struggle to breathe
while your hand is on my neck,
the good kind of struggle,
because i trust you

i want the ache to last for days,
a reminder of how good you felt,
i want to be hurt and loved
**because i trust you

i want you to worship me
until you can’t breathe without saying my name

i want you to beg for me
to scream for me

i want to you to be completely
**d e s t r o y e d

the first time i kissed you,
you tasted of salt and winter.
cold, and familiar.
and gone by the time i opened my eyes.

the last time i kissed you,
you tasted of smoke and summer.
burnt, and aching.
we should have listened when they said nothing lasts forever.

you close your eyes and
wrap your arms around yourself,
trying to make yourself as small as possible

you turn off the lights
and hide under the blankets
and suddenly you're seven years old again

hiding under the bed,
hands clamped over your sister's ears,
trying to be strong for the both of you

even though you were seven and
she was only four and
you forfeited your childhood

in the hopes that your baby sister,
the only thing that matters to you,
could grow up happy

you squeeze your eyes shut and
will yourself not to cry,
to stay strong

because she is not worth your tears
and you whisper 'i am strong'
to yourself over and over again

but it doesn't help,
nothing helps anymore,
except for counting

every day you wake up and
add one more tally to your notebook;
a scorecard of how long you've survived

it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth
every time you look at it,
a reminder of your weakness

you take it out sometimes
on nights like this,
to remind yourself that you are good

but then you get an ache in your chest
and your eyes glance over to the bottom drawer
where, hidden away in the back corner, are your blades

and your fingers twitch over your wrist,
like a reflex, and you want to feel the burn once more
you just want to feel again

you want to feel the blade pierce your skin
and watch the blood drip down your arm,
pooling on the bed, staining it

a wave of embarrassment washes over you,
because you're itching to hurt yourself,
and you promised you wouldn't do it again

you try to steady your breath
when she raises her voice again
but it doesn't work

you hear her coming towards your room
and hold your breath
and stay as still as possible

you pretend to be asleep
and take even breaths
and maybe she won’t hurt you

for witches with brimstone on their breath, ashes in their hair, and fire in their veins


for faeries with daisy crowns atop their heads, broken sea shells across their necks, and crumbling skulls in their hands


for sirens with sweetness laced with poison in their voices, melancholy hidden in their eyes, and death in their hearts

the songs will remember you
as the ****** huntress
what the songs forget is that you were so much more

protector of young girls with their heads in the clouds
and hope in their eyes,
daughter of wolves and thunder

you were stripped bare and
the only thing that marked you
as important, was the name of your father

the only thing that they remembered
was the state of your maidenhood
no one warned you how their eyes would linger

and darken in lust,
untouchable, forbidden fruit
because that’s all they thought you were worth

you were three years old
when you refused to be reduced
to a state of being

you were three years old
when you refused to let
any man take what was yours

you were three years old
when you decided
you were to rule the mountains

you proved them wrong