Weary branches hold no leaves In the frost, and the wind weaves Notes of gloom. The witch recites The spell of doom for a frostbite: Everyone's frozen, and she's made queen. Ruler of one, an idiotic scheme!
my mother’s drawer is a magpie’s nest. her restless treasures sizzle under the scant sunlight. her watchful, furtive, darting eyes. then her hands slam the drawer shut. she flares at my longing stares. don’t you touch it or i’ll have your guts for garters. mummy and daddy are out until noon. i slip, slither, slide. gleam. swoon. head plunged into a cold green chest filled with gold watches that don’t tick and teardrop-shaped pearls and my pretty china doll that mum claimed was lost. (hiss.) there’s a box the size of a Frooti pack. on the cover’s a handsome man with tousled hair. a woman with parted lips trails a digit down his chiselled chest. the picture of a strawberry. it looks like Dark Fantasy and Fruit-tella had a baby. the offspring of two forbidden fruits, staring right at me. fervent fingertips tear through the tin foil and pull out a pink ringed soft rubber and taste it. bland. sticky. the raised isometric dots like goosebumps on my tongue. what is this thing? grownups have ...
Today, the lake has frozen over, And the raucous, murky serpent swirls Beneath the still water. A state of sedation. Every movement, a slice into the unknown. The lurching device desperately pumps, But the great many sheets of ice lay unresponsive, Like an unimpressed lover, Or a website with no internet. Oh, to restore the connection, To redraw the lines between the self and the other, To grace the nurturing coast once again. Photo by riciardus from Pexels
tw: abuse, death, trauma how seasonal, her love is. the summer has sucked it dry. you chase the shimmering mirage of perfection, running until your lungs burn, your muscles scream, until black spots dance in your vision. your eyes sting from the sand in her words, leaking salt. her fist clenches around your heart. she carves in wounds to match her hurt. you love her, despite. you love her, because. you love her, and it is your ruin. you do not choose yourself. but you're selfish, just a little. you see, she loves someone she wants you to be. you wish you could be that person. but you don't allow her to chisel you into perfection because individuality. the nerve of you. you recall that lignocaine summer when you loved her with closed lids. love was always conditional, but the terms were easier before the update. now you hide like a rat in the bathroom and insulate the pain with tears, like water cleansing a bloody scrape. your chest heaves. your mouth gasps for air. you recall t...
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