dance,
paramour.
wind your burn-tongue around my knuckles and kiss my eyelids till i weep,
till the whites under my lashes blister red
and close you out down to the bottom of my lungs and up through the tree tops.
writhe,
pantomime.
curl words into the graying night and show me the signs in the stars through the shapes of your curves.
kill me slowly.
the fires are out but im curling in on myself, fingers to ribs, nails to skin breathing deep and remembering your face against the flames,
watching the shadows wisp in the shape of your smile,
dreaming through squeezed-shut eyes of the moon disappearing beneath the plumes of your dragon-breath against the cold winter twilight.
kill me slowly.
cure me slowly.
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Comments
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.metal.
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Death had tried firey steeds and skeletal horses in the past and found them impractical, especially the fiery ones, which tended to set light to their own bedding and stand in the middle of it looking embarrassed
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.metal.
between these, my sleeplessness, and the massive amounts of ibuprofen that i consume, i'm definitely gonna die by twenty.
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keep your head above this water.
magic.
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.metal.
yes, i love hearts. get over it. D:
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.metal.
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