《Slowtown [t.r]》past xvi
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chills my dry bones, every step forward causes another splinter in my brittle body.
this process is prolonged as you collect the ingredients for your cocktail of suicide.
god, why did i ever say hello?
coiled in the dungeon i wait by the hearth, watching as the oranges and reds and blues and whites all swirl together in a wonderful occult dance that'll singe. despite the heat i think of you and i shudder regardless - decay always finds a way to seep in.
looking to the windows i long to see snow, the glitter of it and the sparkle - but all that floats by are dead bodies of green, drifting in the currents trapped under ice.
a shadow sits next to me - i don't move - watching the flame but they cough delicately and i turn - eleanor is staring at me.
what?
she blinks at my tone but i don't care. i'm done being cautious with people like her. i'm done with every wretched witch and wizard who's stared down their noses in disgust as if i was mud on the bottom of their shoes.
kill them all - that voice would chime - it sounded like you.
you're crying, her voice was soft. like the powder that dusts the grounds and her cheeks were hazy sunsets. everyone loved eleanor rosier - everyone except you.
she wasn't sweet - she wasn't gentle - but she gave that impression like the paintings of angels that tower over the aisles of churches.
beautifully haunting and cruel - carrying out every whim from their master - yet everyone thinks they're the good guys.
my knuckles dig at my cheeks as i wipe the acid away.
her mouth opens to say something - a blush of watered down blood - but it scars over and she gets up and walks away.
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i think about that interaction a lot - i don't know why but i find it comforting.
even monsters leak the lie of human nature.
pine needles prick at my skin and everything itches as i watch the great hall get adorned in bells and red painted velvet.
i don't want to go home but the jumper that tugs at my skin reminds me of the train i'll be catching in a few hours.
ginger and lemongrass floods me as i think to when i told you i was leaving - hoping you'd grab me and chain me and tell me you don't want me to go.
however when you actually told me no, you can't leave - i found myself packing later that night with a grin on my face.
i wonder if you'll continue this dance with death without me during the holiday.
you seemed livid at the sight of my trunk - the calm disposition of your demeanor wilting as rage blew out your eyes and sticks stabbed themselves at your throat making the forest of tendons in your neck swell.
disobeying you is fun, i'll do it again sometime.
when i arrive home the carcass of the house is filled with plumes of my aunts heavy perfume and whiskey and i stifle a cough as i make my way to my room.
weaving through the labyrinth of broken halls, chairs, tables - i stare at that dreadful spot on the kitchen floor and the brown stain of rot - cloth, pictures of my parents and memories i wish would burn.
i want to burn the whole house down with me at the center and i want people to gape and awe at the sight of black ash and fleshy goo as i scream and scream - screaming till i throw up my lungs and my heart only to find out i don't have one and then they're happy at the sight of a creature perishing.
my daydreaming shatters at the sight of cream and ink on my bed.
cemetery at midnight, diana.
fuck you.
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