my skin / blisters under the heat of your / anger, burning like ethanol, blue-hot. / nobody can see it. / and your hands / kerosene / leave scorch marks /on my body / pull ragged breaths / and pained screams from / the depths of my soul. / it sets my lungs on fire. /can’t you hear them? / or have the flames / drowned them out?
many springs have come and gone, but for her, youth is a permanent state of being. flowers never fade beneath her feet. the sun is in her smile. she reminds you of a girl you once knew as a child. come play, she beckons. you follow, feeling the chill of winter fade in her grasp. in her field of eternal spring, you are reborn.
blood on her tongue. his still-beating heart, warm in her hands, and love, the sweetest taste, on her lips. a man with glassy eyes and strained breaths, helpless. such a slow devouring, each piece better than the last. fingers licked clean, bloody lips, and a last breath. her crooked smile, his last thought. there is beauty in death when rotten words no longer fall from rotten lips.
her fingers, elegant white bones now claws in his shirt. oh poor soul, better a baptism of blood than a girl’s broken heart. the words of a broken heart with something almost like love. but it vanishes with the body at the bottom of the ocean.
↳ @inkstay dare to write | 500 prompts | vile romance
i watch over the labyrinth/ golden thread in my hands/ i have seen too many/ go in but never come out again
part seven: favorite mortal woman (via femmefatalenet.tumblr)
she sings a song so sweetly
in waters deep and cold
until her heart is stolen
by men both brave and bold
part six: favorite mythological creature (via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)
waves lap at robes redder than the paper lanterns hanging from the eaves of her village. they blow, candles in a howling wind, trying to guide ships back to shore and men to their homes. the sky is a dark gray.
she does not turn from the tide, not even as her hair whips about her and the sea sprays her face. she beckons sailors home, whispering, i will not lose another. hundreds of years it has been and hundreds of years more will come to pass, but she will never fail. Not again. Pain runs white in memories as she calms the waves to aid the ships. She is on the bow, leading the way. She is in the sea, coaxing it to sleep.
she was lin mo, a light of goodwill in the gray anger of a raging tempest.
now she is a goddess. she will make the sea obey.
hollow back sways like the bark of a sapling but she is no spring tree. with golden hair and cherub’s lips, she dances, a cow’s tail under her skirt. she smiles and beckons. ‘i am your ruin,’ she warns as they near, but they all go willingly, ignorant of the tears and the terrors their deaths will bring. when the deed is done, she steps out into the forest once more, swaying in time to music only she can hear. men still come for her. none notice the stains of tears shed before.
prompt: female mythological figure (via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)