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.
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)
in white-columned halls sit girls wrapped in gossamer. light streams through sheer curtains. laughter hangs in the air. with deft fingers, they braid each other’s hair and the soft sound of a lyre can be heard. paper is strewn about covered in sketches, poems, and prose, the beginnings of a history that has yet to begin, and a star chart beautifully rendered. a girl is dancing, hymns on her tongue and a song in her heart.
they wait for bright minds to bestow the gift of divine inspiration in white-columned halls.
part three: favorite platonic pairings (via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)