writing until the very end

you exhale silver moths that wing their pale way into the sky. daughter of a land crushed kingless, silhouette of a city turned lightless against stars that shiver in the sudden dark. in the silence, you ask what poem i have clenched between my teeth tonight, and i kiss you, wordless for once. on a distant horizon, the flames are dying, smoke carried across the sea. we, too, are burning. we, too, crack like the teeth of ice, walking onwards to a half-forgotten dream.

there is a hunting knife buried between her second and third rib, and cold iron links bind against tender skin. your mouth blunts itself against a syllable, / bitten sound offered raw from the hollow space of your lungs.

here, the hemlock does not fall from her tongue, and her eyes are shadow- molten, unforgiving. / your hands are not your own. your mouth is not

your own. / you dream of the fire sketching itself between fingertips, striking at the cut of her throat, the swallow of death curling out like

a wound. you dream of the pyre, the flame shattering into air, how her corpse yielded to heat and light. you dream of the unburning. / there is poison sweet between her teeth and hunting season digging into flesh.

counterpoint: corpse-coldness. when you exhaled like you’d meant to drown and the lake bloomed poppy-red. when the moon slipped away, siren-smooth, and fit herself under your fingernails like

an accusation. your eyes brim with it and she won’t apologize but she might promise to do a better job of wiping the blood off next time — next time, she’ll skip from history to ghost story. leave the legend sleeping with the memory, leave

the confession. so of course it comes back to wrists and throats, those parts that split and fishbellied up in the half-light. it comes back to lips and eyes, and skin, always skin, flushed with apology and numb with the morning cold. it comes to

setbacks; her asking if you wanted to wrap her in cotton wool. if you knew she heard prison when you said protection. if you knew her temper was not hair-trigger but kept in the space between point of impact and the tip of the weapon, every motion

a sentencing. listen: if death is at the door she will offer your body. eyes closed as the wetness wells up in every socket. back straight as the morning light slants into something like regret.

Scrupulously austere in its order

Of white and black

Ice and rock, each sentiment within border

And heart’s frosty discipline

Exact as a snowflake.

hello and welcome to the writeblr network, a brand new network exclusively for the writeblr community! APPLICATIONS ARE: OPEN !!!

about the net:

the writeblr network is a place where writeblrs can talk to and befriend like-minded people, explore different wip ideas and support each other by sharing advice, promoting each other’s content, and spreading even more love within the community!

(…maybe even create a wip together?)

we will also be hosting different events each month about different themes for everyone (not only the members) to join. every event post will be reblogged to the network blog; this way, even non-members can be a part of this lovely network as well!

requirements:

this is kind of self-explanatory, but be a writeblr! your blog does not have to be 100% writeblr-related but it should encompass a majority of your posts!

we prioritise content creators but you can also apply if you are a reblogger!

reblog this post to spread the word!

follow the network blog and track #writeblrnet to stay updated about news and events!

follow the admin! this is optional but would be greatly appreciated!

fill out this application form!

i will close applications once i get a decent amount, but i will let you know before i do! if you have any questions, feel free to ask me anytime!