Child of Sweeping Fire and Summer Echoes

She was fierce as feral flames, fangs without the jaw, a burning star, a speeding car, sounds of fire crackles and familiar music. Each strand of hair upon her head held a story doused in color, her eyes hypnotic and starving for every experience this world can offer her.

Each turn of the Sun was a metamorphosis and every peek of the Moon a chance to howl and scream into the night, a grin spread wide.

Summer and sand favored her heels, leaving dusty hot imprints on the balls of her feet. Across the heat, as fast as air can bring her, she rushes towards unfamiliar depths, nearly fearless of the blue, nearly fearless to die.

Scars on her elbows and knees and palms would sink in salted water and leave peeled off bandages as a path to follow later on.

The child of Sweeping fire and Summer Echoes, may your days in the sun be ever hot and bright. And as you walk past the shimmering shores and muggy mid-day fog, may the fish guide you from the sea as well as up above.

Prince of Ink Stains and Soft Wind

He is of fair face, fair as willow maiden hair and a voice once kin to the wind, but captured and enveloped within the most delicate of wind pipes.

They say he moves like windchimes, pleasantly swaying to where ever he sees fit, only to return in one piece when the orchestra of adventurous air ceases to play.

Skin like oil paint, smooth and perfectly toned to capture every length of celestial light, no matter where he turns.

And tangling between his fingers and spilling from his lips, light blotches of softened petals bloom on the branches of saliva from his mouth. 

They cascade down his figure from an inky fountain within his mind, endless and ever-growing, a deep, dense coal-toned abyss that brings life to every feature of his always changing body.

He is a prince; a prince of ink stains and soft wind, Of delicate lifeforms with black-bolded bones, 

Of intertwined words that slip the mind, only for him to draw them back deep inside.

Ode of A Luna-tic

To my dearest,

Its been quite some time since we last spoke, almost nearly a decade. It’s been so long that I’ve started to forget what you sound like.

I truly miss you, dearest. Every time the night draws near, during the deepest hours where everything becomes still, that is when I think of you the most. Your silvery hair and night-dyed eyes keep me awake. I see them imprinted in the air, floating towards the ceiling. I know that isn’t you up there, but sometimes, when I’m lying in bed alone and thoughtless, I reach my hand out to your apparition only to be met with your figure distorting like a dissipating fog.

Why must you torture me like this? Plaguing my mind during the night when the sun is no longer up high to guard my thoughts from you? It has been so long that I would hope to have forgotten you completely by now, and yet, here you are. Not quite alive, but not quite dead either. A marble statue in the core of my memory, standing tall and ever present. I can speak and beg and cry to you all I please, but I will only be met with an empty stare, lifeless chest, and cold marble skin.

Oh dearest how I long to see you once more. To hear your bell-like voice chime through my ears and send shivers down my spine. To sing me to sleep with your dreams that float from your mind and prance onto your lips.

But you are gone, dearest. Yes you are gone and never to return to my arms for you were never there to begin with. All I have is the light that shines above my head when the night comes by, lights that dare not interrupt the suns daily course. These lights I shall remember you by each time I lay my head and peer out the window. And the moon, yes the moon. May the moon be my reminder that, somewhere, you are waiting for me, up high in the sky like a celestial body deep in slumber.

So goodnight my dearest, I feel much less alone now. May you rest fitfully and may you dream the sweetest of dreams for me. May you be bright, my dearest, and if your light does cease to shine one day (as it someday will), I shall take you in my arms and shine for you.

– Ode of A Luna-tic

An Ode for the Girl Who Glared At Me

Do you know what it’s like to cry for a stranger? It’s the strangest feeling in the world, my heathens… I’ve done it before, many years ago. I wish I could do it now. The only feeling I can manage now is a slightly more empty soul and a feeling of restlessness.

Her sensations still linger as wisps and fragments in the places she used to sit, in the people she used to speak to…

I didn’t love her. She was just another voice in a room, another hilarious pun in the hush and stillness of awkward confusion.

But her absence still has weight. A weight that can be passed by on a mere glance but the more you focus on it, the heavier it gets.

I barely knew the girl who glared at me those many years ago. Her slim, petite figure and flaxen hair are all worthy of the minuscule memory she has in my mind. The jumpy eyes and bored-to-death tone mingled with her baggy hoodie and sweatpants that hide a lightly blemished face, every detail becomes more obscure the less she is here.

I barely knew her, my heathens. Barely. All I know of her are the whispers of her friends and the slight movements of her falling out of chair from the corner of my eye. That is all I will ever know.

We may not have known much of the other, but I will still hang my head for her. The dead deserve respect, my heathens, from the unorthodox to the unspeakably plain. All life is meaningful and the extinguishing of it must be commemorated.

So hang your heads, my heathens. Close your eyes and send her fleeting soul your best of wishes, your fickle goodbyes, for when the time comes when she can no longer be sought, she will be totally and absolutely gone.

-Cap

In honor of A.

Midnight Drabble

The heart aches

The lips shake

Every little cavity fills with fire and earthquakes

Craving the flame, it’s burning destruction 

To break down the lungs and shatter the bone

Let it burn, let it burn

Young hearts never learn

Young minds never grow

Let it burn, let it burn

How to make a love poison

How to Make a Love Poison

You’ll need your materials. Ground cinnamon, wanning moon water, and rose thorns. You will also need an object of your recipient, anything will do. Make sure you have a vessel on hand [i.e. bottles, jars, containers, etc.] as well as a preparing dish.

Protective tools such as salt, candles, bells, incense,or red string are not mandatory, but encouraged.

It is best to perform the conjuring during a full moon when all forces are at their peak.

—-

Silence is important. Perform the conjuring in a quiet space during the darkest parts of the night. No partners are necessary. It is best that you work alone.

Place your protections about you before you begin. Once satisfied, sit on the floor with your materials before you. 

Pour the wanning moon water into the dish. Blend in the cinnamon. Drop the object of your recipient into the dish and top the mixture with the rose thorns. Stir.

It is important to fill your thoughts with ill intentions. Failed love, non-existent love, false love, or if you fancy, toxic love. You may even force thr recipient to become infatuated with yourself or another person. Your thoughts and energies will imbue into the mixture.

When satisfied, pour the mixture into a vessel [a funnel may help get the mixture inside the vessel] and seal tightly. 

Rest the vessel upon a windowsill or somewhere near the moon for the night. The full moon’s amplifying abilities will amplify the intensity of the poison.

Clean up.

—-

This poison is very simple, but moderately dangerous. The creation of the poison will result in the recipent being cursed however the caster wishes them to be. The effects may wear off with time so recreating the poison with new materials [including recipient’s object] may be necessary.

The poison within the vessel must never be revealed to the recipient or the effects will be instantly canceled. The poison must also never be opened [unless it is being emptied for a new poison or disposed of correctly] or the effects will be transferred to the caster.

To dispose of the poison, an apology must be made to the recipient [not in person] while holding the vessel firmly. Asking for forgiveness is crucial. Empty the contents into a dug up hole in the earth and bury it afterwards. After disposing the poison, it cannot be remade for the same person anytime in the future.

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