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Literature Text
on the brink
of something more dangerous
than self-destruction
she holds
a knife in one hand
and self-doubt in the other
whispering,
you are no better than your options
of something more dangerous
than self-destruction
she holds
a knife in one hand
and self-doubt in the other
whispering,
you are no better than your options
Literature
Chemistry
She’s an explosion.
He’s the catalyst.
Literature
Pyromaniac
I used to dream that I had
candles growing out of my head,
protruding like a cluster
of white horns, eternally lit,
dribbling wax masking my face.
I would wake—sweating, panting—
in the night and tiptoe outside,
clutching a matchbox
as if it were a holy book,
where one by one
I would scorch my fingers black
and whisper your name—
each flame across my skin
accompanied by
your image,
your scent,
your voice
telling me to stop hiding,
please, for the love of God,
stop hiding.
Literature
have I
heaven is not a place for
wanderers, witch-talkers,
women with words
between their teeth.
for a woman, any passion
is a sin, any determination
a grievous error.
I am not to taste of
love, that potion
beautiful, despairing
and rare—
I am a bondservant only.
and so I'll not say a word—
but oh, have I lived.
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so yesterday's was really long and today's is super short.
I have consistency problems. XD
I have consistency problems. XD
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Comments8
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It's haunting and beautiful.