IMPOSSIBLE GIRL .

A CONCEPT HE MIGHT HAVE UNDERSTOOD had he grown up around the constraints of mortal customs . but he , a prince ( now KING ) of fae , can only scramble to grasp at loose threads . try again .

“     BUT YOU DO ENDURE … what’s the word … ah yes , BULLET HOLES from friends ??     ”

CUE THE RECOIL ,  THE CLAP OF REALITY .  numb emotion claws upward ,  breaks through the ice ,  gasps in frigid air that stings down its throat .  (  not a friend  / not a friend  /  not a friend .  )   empathy bleeds out of her ,  leaving raw - red agony to dissolve into hatred .

there were times that victor wondered how he got into this situation, taking care of a child. even if it was mostly bringing her along when there was a chance he’d need to talk to a dead body. but sydney was useful, and so it was in his best interests to keep her around. which was why, when he had been out earlier, victor had picked up a bag of assorted candies. children liked candy, right?

“mitch’s idea.” // @relifen@relifen

A SHREWD ,  PIERCING LOOK .  CONSIDERING .   something she finds tugs at the corners of her lips  ;  she conceals a half - smile with an inclination of her head ,  swipes the bag in a rehearsed movement .     ‘  tell him thanks ,  ’     with a crooked ,  devilish imitation of a grin .  there’s the subtle reek of domesticity ,  bizarre in a hotel room of convicts and runaways ,  accompanied with something other that scratches at the borders of her consciousness .  (  it takes only the crinkle of wrappers to plunge into indulgence ,  the lure of chocolate to dispel anything unwanted .  )   distractedly ,  she lifts the bag .     ‘  want one ?  ’

“     AND SO HE SENT A LITTLE GIRL .     ”     no not a child – an abomination . and yet words , though debase and contemptuous , mean not for her ( the girl of icy water , distortion , and death ; the girl capable of so much – too much ) but for the damning of an old friend . for why , the voice in his head inquires , send her in his stead ?? absently eli wonders what that would be like . to once again hold f e a r in regard . 

A SIGH ; LABORED AND WORN – as if sleep itself could take more from him than the tearing of his own flesh ( though were that not true ?? ). eyes , rounds of black holes , soon regard the uninvited guest .     “     i’m going to put a shirt on , will you make it until then without blowing a hole through my chest ??     ”     icy water , distortion , and death . remember .

there’s that young rage ,  that blooming insistence ,  that set to pursed lips demanding respect .  recognition .  she is not a pawn .  she is neither a shadow nor a copy .  she is a force ,  a power to fear             yet in the end ,  still a child .   (  her trembling widens the fault lines in her courage ,  leaving numbness seeping through .  there’s something absent in eli’s eyes .  a hollowness ,  a stillness that reminds her too much of death .  )

‘  ...  fine .  ’     silence breeds anxiety ,  and she’s brimming with it .  her fingertips seek the bite of cold metal ,  exposing that oily black glint to the stale darkness in the room .  (  pooling sweat dampens her hold  /  her finger snaps to the trigger .  she takes aim .  )     ‘  but only if you move slowly .  ’

✧ ·  ˚ . @relifen — M O R T A L   

DESPERATION RESTS UNCOMFORTABLY between the lost boy’s lips ; words ebb and flow in uncertainty . if she would not relent , he would do what he must . ( survive , survive , thrive ) .     “     – how about a pear . i guarantee it will make you feel better .     ”     and it would – at a price . lithe fingers produce a beautiful golden fruit , it’s colour akin to his own skin .  

CUE ADRENALINE ,  RISING WAVE OF PANIC AS OBJECT SAILS TOWARDS HER .  her first instinct screams to duck ,  head bowing slightly ,  arms outstretching in a blind attempt to          block ?  catch ?  either way ,  it hits the flat planes of her palms        an wholly unexpected weight         fingers failing to seize hold of it           the football falls with a thud ,  turning slightly in the grass   (  utterly anticlimactic .  )   embarrassment burns through the sheen of confusion .  rigid ,  tight movements to pick it up ,  deliver it into any palms that seem to be waiting .

@relifen //  S Y D N E Y  C L A R K E .

SACCHARINE LEFT BITTER ON HIS LIPS . a taste lingering lifelessly ; dead weight with nothing to savour . for a moment eli thought he glimpsed the semblance of a man once known ; a skin once worn . but the young man was once again left disappointed . internally he chided himself ; a wavering conviction could serve no god . how he wished for a dreamless sleep . 

ELI LAZILY LIFTED THE SHEETS off of his body exposing a bare chest ; skin dampened with sweat . tangled hair matted to his forehead . 

                                                                        c - c - c r e a k . 

INSTANTANEOUSLY GREEN EYES flickered to an open window as a small figure approached . recognition . a familiar pale hair ( haloed by the moonlight ) and those same blue eyes . the young man stiffened . despite the recalled similarities eli could see that the girl before him was not the same as the one he had shot in the field . she wore something new – a pointed gaze stretched deliberately over the tired face of a thirteen year old girl . and yet , all the same , she was still decidedly  w r o n g  .

“     VICTOR HAS ALWAYS had a way of talking people into things .     ”     words born out of first hand experience no doubt .     “     but waking a man in his own bed at 3 am ,    ”     a pause to consider .     “     perhaps it’s his new MO.     ”

STEADY STEPS ,  little girl ,  WHEN APPROACHING A MONSTER AND DARING HIM NOT TO BITE .  spine held stiffly straight ,  defiance accented with a small uptilt of chin              she instinctively draws from an image of someone other than herself ,  a figure once venerated ,  perched atop a pedestal constructed a decade in the past .

distaste pulls her lips into a frown .  faith  /  piety is starkly lacking in disillusioned eyes ,  but one gaze at the man before her draws nothing less than a churn in her stomach   (  hatred ,  disgust ,  fear  )  ,  an unceasing echo of devil ,  devil ,  devil .   (  smoothed surfaces have cracked ,  splintered ,  worn away to bare vileness beneath .  )   she doesn’t like it ,  just as she doesn’t like the sound of victor’s name uttered so casually from wicked lips .  so do you ,  she wants to say ,  to pin her sister’s crimes onto an easier target .   (  lips remain firmly shut  /  no one makes serena do anything ,  coupled with the breeze of her laughter ,  ease in every movement              hates it ,  hates it ,  hates it .  )   one deep breath .

AN UNBLINKING STARE ,  WEARY            WROUGHT WITH STEEL .   (  a gaze that has seen ages ,  met death  /  tragedy in the eyes and was foolish enough not to glance away .  )   she lowers her eyes ,  slides her scrutiny towards the raw red across vincent’s knuckles  :   something sharp tugs ,  weighs down the corners of lips ,  furrows slender brows           something like reproach ,  like disappointment .     

Austerity Measures: The New Greek Poetry lines — pt. 1

bold the ones that apply to your muse, italicize the ones that your muse directs at someone else. REPOST. DON’T REBLOG

Panayotis Ioannidis

“Mosquito”

reading with a bright light in bed • written under the conditions of oppression • a mosquito circled me, menacing • I killed it and took up my reading again • I got tired and turned off the light

“The Poet in the Hallway”

the poet on the floor • emerging from the linoleum tiles • fire extinguisher • standing ashtray • abandoned handcart • Stoically he is looking at the wall opposite • knees of the hurried passers-by

Dimitris Athinakis

“A Semblance of Order”

A tidy house is what I have left • unwearable clothes • wet tickets from busses • carted sweat by the ton • still seeking the sweat • some passengers must have left behind • I look under the beds • under the plates piled in a semblance of order • I don’t go anywhere — I’m just sad. • water dribbling from decaying pipes • stick my tongue • I stretch it as far as it’ll go • I keep stretching • I sew some pockets shut • as if to lock up whatever I can. • And my tongue is stretched out all night.

“Delirium for the Four Legs of a Love”

‘  YOU NEVER TOLD ME .  ’     soft ,  as much as an accusation can be .  cold fingertips drift across loose fabric bunched around her upper arm ,  across the mess of raised skin hidden beneath .   (  poignant          the stark absence of pain  ;  in its place is numbness ,  a heavy phantom ache .  the keen bite of bullet gone ,  color ,  feeling departs with it ,  sucking the vividness from memory .  leaving freshly - lived nightmares to fade into sharp grayscale .  )   fingers press back into the chilled surface of the can in her hands ,  seek solace in the shock of cold .  

MOTION CRASHES THROUGH THE SHEEN OF DISTRACTION .  instinct overtakes her ,  jerks her back before reality can fully collide .  freeze  —  and she meets rounded eyes ,  untainted ,  animalistic innocence .  yet                    unfamiliar voice severs any reaction surfacing .  lips sealing together ,  she darts a curious gaze upwards   (  a look of appraisal ,  an ill - disguised hunt for threat .  unfitting on a face hardly touched by age .  )   

one silent beat ,  and attention steals downwards once more .  she speaks with the soft ,  cooing voice one adopts for a baby ,  near - comical tumbling from the lips of a young girl .