#mohwrites

a god lives in you — you die a little, every day, just to let Him breathe

i. nylons      Your chainmail is gone now,      turned to rust and withered away,      replaced by black stockings      with a black heart to match          that pumps anger and hate and defiance          through every inch          of your, now, unmarred skin,      despite the wars you’ve lived      despite the life you had.      The gowns are gone now      and blouses and skirts are all that remain,      are all the rage and fashion of modern days,      precariously protecting you      from the wandering hands in the light      when you walk though this land,          the Shadow Land,          built on deception and deceit      with the Lion that stalks your every move in the shadows      of glass buildings and still trees,          with it’s claws and teeth drawn,          waiting patiently, tail swinging,          to sink them quick and deep in your flesh          in the shadows of sleep      once more.      You don’t give Him the chance,          there are no openings for Him,          not anymore. ii. lipsticks     Your eyes are painted black     sharp and wicked as you          paralyze any who dare step in your way.     You smile with lips the colour of blood,          as deep and dark as the arrows you once unleashed,     teeth drawn, sharp and white and pointed,          -Unnatural, you hear from behind.          Deadly, you think to yourself.-     waiting and waiting     for any fools to open their mouths,          wanting to feel the satisfaction when you rip them into shreds     (like you have been,          time and time again).     You are more monster than girl now,     more dark and wild than the          gentle and obedient servant you were moulded to be.     You know better than to give a knife to your friends          and think you are safe.     Not after He showed you the error of your ways,     with body piled on body of your family,          broken and bloody and beaten and gone,          left behind for only you to claim.     Even the little lioness,     the favoured one.     Brave and free and valiant,          but left as cold and dead as the Witch you were called to fight,          once upon a time, a lifetime ago,     when He was done.     Called upon like puppets dangling from strings,          that you once believed reached the sky          but opened your eyes          only to discover they were being pulled taut into     His bloodied and open red maw     as he reeled you in, one by one,          feeding off of your Trust and Devotion and Loyalty and Faith.     Only you noticed,          the blood that dripped from your skin from          the teeth that bit and the claws that scratched          under the guise of Affection and Love.     Only you noticed,          and only you found the Courage to          break free of the strings          that bound and cut at you,     tearing yourself into pieces in the process. iii. invitations     You face them now,         a warrior,         a goddess,         a slayer of monsters and demons and Deception,     going to battle any naysayers and disbelievers who tremble         at your power,         at your transformation,         at your ressurection.     You reach inside yourself to destroy the Lion that feeds on you,         a parasite,     tearing it out just as it tore you open when it settled itself     inside your breast and dug its way into your heart,     feeding off of your Youth and Naivety,         insatiable.     You pray to Gods,         but Him no longer,     not the beast hiding in the lion skin it wears,         a trophy of an old conquest.     You pray to the Gods,         ones who take and take,         just as you do in return.     A circle of balance and peace and power,         of beginning and end.     Night watches over you,         offering solace and anonymity in Her arms,         taking, in return, your pain and tears and nightmares.     Day peeks through every now and then,         with Her warmth and protection and fire,         taking your demons and feeding off of your despair.     To Sorrow,         who sits silently by your side in your grief,         who provides comfort and companionship,         you give your future to do with it what She will.     Anger walks with you, side by side,     Thrumming and flighty,         giving you the ability to give a painful sting,         to all the ones who have wronged you,         taking, in return, the peace and calm of forgotten days.     To Life and Death,         the Ones who you’ve conquered time and time again,         you give all that’s left without care.     When He will see you again,     you will grin, fierce and sharp and deadly,          with a mouth painted red,          a parody of the day He took them from you.     He is forgotten now,          just as you were.     It’s time, my dear.     To rise         like the girl we know you to be,         to shed that last life, another past life,         and breathe again         as you soar higher than any before you,     higher than even He has dared to go.

corruption sleeps within the tainted and they are human, no longer

You pile blame after blame at my feet. How much is actually mine to carry?

You made a home for yourself in the space between my heartbeats. You sound in my silence.