mot speck

if only
your touch had left
a bruise,
then I could
unwind it

the moment
of impact, understand
it, console

that you
were real and
wanting, not
(phantom) curiosity

for contact in the
dust motes, I rub
my eyes,
I see nothing



One day, I’ll end us. Take us out in an atomic explosion – it’s the only way we’ll stop. There will be no cool fizzle for us, no slow burn. Only a searing, spectacular supernova could shatter our magnetically charged trajectories apart. This unencumbered quill will run on and on – no – the ending of our story can only be inked in the sparkling filth of mutual demise. A grand act of terror. The snuff film of our love. 

i. Witch

Am I to spend my days
locked in the longing
of my namesake?

I am a ghost of knife and bone
practicing that spell to lure
my foreign lover to my sheets

On my shores,
he will find my hunger
as pure as my magick - if he
can abide it - would that everything
I do have such meaning as this ritual
I cast for him in the blood circle

The allure of my body
may as well be ashen wick;
my bloodline forever cursed,
if I cannot 
enchant him
with my charms.

ii. Nun

I pace this small room
of stone, like a bored animal
stalking thoughts most treacherous

The young eyes
of my Grandfather watch me
patiently from a gilded frame, pleading;
what have you done, my progeny?

You betrayed your kindred
for a love sparked between your
wicked thighs - that flesh that makes
kittens out of the fiercest of men;
and now your beauty must rot unfulfilled.

iii. Scholar

I lift up the books that found me
tonight, and lay them on my knees;
for each will offer a lesson
I must timely absorb

The rain speaks of days like these,
in the dimmest of light with only
my wit to encourage me through -
no mean feat of voluptuous
beauty, shall aid me now

I tiptoe slowly down these halls,
a quiet predator in the shadows,
 - light feet, steel trap cunning -
and wily defiance; I shall show them
what a woman of iron mind is capable of.


there is a slice of me
missing, locked in
your bedside table
I’d put my wings on,
fly to retrieve it
if only I knew
where to look

you cut,
with your prize
I put my wings on,
winded, scour the
landscape in vain

there is a slice of me,
missing, locked
- vanished -
and only you
can tell me where
to find the key,
I put my wings on.


I am every terrible absolute you have ever heard of. I am the lover driven mad, and I am the cold man with frozen veins. So often I am the latter, distant and removed, an observer to all the events I am supposed to be a -part of, until my heart explodes and my limbs are freed by the sudden rush of blood. My eyes open and I weep with joy for trees and sunlight, for the good things. I am the man with the blindfold, who stumbles on the things I have gained. I am unquenchable, I have a thirst that cannot be slaked by hello, I squeeze and twist and push until I want to say goodbye. I will worship the ground you walk on, and then I will watch you walk away. I am insomnia and the coming comatose. I will leap tall buildings and then collapse under the expectations. I feel guilty for these extremes, I always wonder how I can be all of my opposites, all at the same time. I don’t talk to myself, but there are two people inside me engaged in a constant debate about every thought I think. Every feeling makes me sick and every idea keeps me awake at night.

I am passion and indifference, I am bold and I am silent. I love you with the burning intensity of a sun with no planets.

I love you because I would be devastated if someone else got to have you. I would race from both ends of my devastation like a worried dog, pacing the space you left and wondering who was holding you against them at night. I would die that way, at the bottom of a ten hundred foot hole I wore into the ground from wanting you. I love you jealously and with a fever that boils on the surface of my skin like water in hot oil. Loving you feels like racing to the top of a mountain—pointless but an exhilarating accomplishment. I read once that we love the way we want to be loved, and until I met you I didn’t understand, because before you I had never really loved before.

Now I get it. Now, I think I finally know.

 Kristen Fiore // The Hound and The Mountain 

#reblogging old feelings

(via girlvswhale)


He lets me call the shots;
drug of choice, his particular
brand of undoing.

The substance his system
rails against, intervention
after rehabilitation.

But baby loves the sting
in his ventricles, every time
he starts using again.

You. &. Me.

There’s something in that, isn’t there?

Anonymous asked: oh my god, you are absolutely beautiful. like i literally am speechless. you are perfection. there goes my self esteem. i'm going to go cry in a dark corner now while i question HOW SOMEONE CAN BE THAT INSANELY GORGEOUS!?

Haha, thank you! YOU are gorgeous. Kick that self esteem back into gear, beautiful soul. There’s enough light to go around and it sure as heck shines out of you. 

Much love. x

Lesson the First

Believe in that
which will save you
from yourself

After all, are you
really such a terrible
enemy to have?


you must bear witness
to the past; four Red Moons
enforce it; change is upon you

for Ceres and Vesta
are locked in the dance
of the sacred feminine manifest

the Great Mother
& the Priestess each take
one of your hands in worship

a cracking of the
shedding skin: the self
must integrate into the other

surrender; plunge
to the murky depths of
the illusion, for that is all it is

the Tetrad is upon us;
bear witness to the past,
& blast away the shackles of it

to Felicia

is a strange
emotion, Felicia
by pride, crystalised
as hatred cools

you wonder
how you gifted
trust, and loving was
so easy before, Felicia
thick, fetid anger, what’s
left between us now

you splash
kerosene liberally
on the graveyard of 
a love that burned as 
hotly as the trembling 
match you strike

is a strange
emotion, Felicia
separating you from me
forever, on the other
side of this locked door.


It’s-been-a-while selfie. {


It’s-been-a-while selfie.


When you fastened the leather
‘round my wrists, whipped your
belt in time with my distress,
I wonder if you knew how
you were educating me.

The everloving blindfold
of your tenderness, and me,
quiet, in the darkness always.
Can you honestly say is it any
wonder what I’ve become?

Love is not, and will never be
fair; that is your legacy to me.
The everloving embodiment
of your downfall, Lasher,
that is my legacy to you.


A haiku on refusing to settle.


A haiku on refusing to settle.