spikethemuffin: (Default)
Orpheus, torn apart, still singing.

There are some days
That he cannot even remember her name.
These are the best days, and the worst.
(He cannot say that he minds being dead.)

But then---
A smell. A pair of lovers arguing. The pause of a slim-ankled faun,
And she comes crashing like a hurricane into his head.
The oak that grows where his heart used to be
Groans, its leaves inverting like rain is coming.

Eurydice! A noise like the clatter of
marionettes, their strings cut.
Like the shuddering four-part intake of breath between sobs.

He never says a thing,
But you will know these days:
They are the days when Persephone waits
until she hears the even breath of sleep, and
Turns the door handle so deliberately
It does not even click as it closes.


Jul. 30th, 2017 05:09 pm
spikethemuffin: (Default)
This is the thing about bone-deep sin:
Not all the lamb's blood in Araby can dye over your stains,
The tabula becomes the story,
The words you have written
(Traitor, liar, thief-of-childhood)
Transcend the page.
Once upon a time, you were prettily bound.
Now, you are defined by those lines.

But here is the secret:
You cannot throw yourself away.
You must treat yourself as if you aren't cheap.
(Oh, sweetheart, I know it is not your way.)
(I know it has not been anyone's way.)

You can scrape your top layers off.
It will hurt. oh God, it will hurt so much,
But you were hurting anyway.
Pain is the price and pride of life.
You will bleach, you will wash, you will
sift pumice across beaches.
You will lose your smoothness, your shine.
You will swear by bran.

The scriptio inferio will come back.
I'm sorry, my darling. It always returns.
Pretend it makes you interesting.
Illuminate your new story the best you can.
Make the best use of
Negative space.
And when you find what you wanted to be in the first place,
Write it dark.
spikethemuffin: (Gardening)
"Doubt that the stars are fire,*
"Doubt that the sun doth move**,
"Doubt Truth to be a liar***,
"But never doubt I love."†

*They are, but not the way you think.
**It does, but not the way you think it does.
***Sweet heaven, where am I to even start?
†Reader is invited to draw her own conclusions.


spikethemuffin: (Default)

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