lvp

love everyone, every leaf, every ray of light. forgive. ☼☽

[femalejungle]

“I’m your worshipper at least; Perilous mad passion mine, Wild one, yet for me divine, You’re the idol, I the priest!”

— Charles Baudelaire, “Afternoon Song,” Flowers of Evil (trans. Alan Conder)

[deanjohn]

Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams, “The Red Girl”

[jewelry-by-irene]

[metamorphesque]

"I`ve lived to bury my desires…", Alexander Pushkin (translated by Maurice Baring)

[antigonick]

“Come back to me in dreams, that I may give Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: Speak low, lean low, As long ago, my love, how long ago.”

— Christina Rossetti, excerpt of “Echo”, in Poems and Prose

[shriekingpyre]

SPIRACLE, ryn selene

ko-fi

[full text below the cut]

it’s always the boys holding midnight baptisms.

summer is a slow torture of lies and mourning the nights when youth felt endless. formative years spent with secrets kept warm in the back of throats.

golden boys, lords of the lake. unable to admit the truth even with water flooding their lungs. bathing in the dusk moonlight, fantasies of tangible love clouding their minds.

boys led to divinity underneath dusk’s knowing gaze. spiraling boyhood pushed backwards into holy water by the gentle fingertips of makeshift gods.

a dead boy is still dead when you lead him down to the creek, when you kiss him. you’ll die if you follow him down this path. his starbright savior won’t come for you.

how much longing does it take to come clean? he is what the water gave you. love has always been a fickle game, no one’s winning.

darling blue boy, you can’t outrun devotion. drink from the well of him. play dead, wait for god to react.

there’s no righteous path to follow anymore, boys continue their innocent deaths in the coldness of water.

a dead boy is still dead even when you try to guide him to heaven, even when you love him.

sullen blue boy, why did you let devotion burn so bright? who knew the season of daylight could be so violent?

a dead boy is still dead when you take him home. no amount of washing him clean will reverse this tragedy. taking him down to the lake wasn’t a sign of mercy. sometimes water is only water.

(tagging mutuals bc why not! @geryone @hauntedwoman @hangsawoman)

[icemaiden-deactivated20220406]

imagine hearing suzanne by leonard cohen for the first time and hearing the verse “and jesus was a sailor, when he walked upon the water. he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower, and when he knew for certain only drowning men could see him, he said all men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them. but he himself was broken, long before the sky would open; forsaken, almost human, he sank beneath your wisdom like a stone….” and stopping what you’re doing and just feeling the wind knocked out of you

[aqua-regia009]

Dawid Figielek (Polish, b.1979)

[beguines]

Kathleen Graber, from "Book Eleven", The Eternal City

[petaltexturedskies]

Angela Carter, from The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories

[appointmentwithmryeats]

Seamus Heaney

[diana-andraste]

Therefore my heart is glad, Julian Smith, 1930s (printed c. 1948)

[apocryphics]

[somewhere--in-between]

[the-cinder-fields]

Jean Raoux, Ancient Vestals, 1727

[beguines]

John Blair, "Aphorism 48: Faith Is the Bird That Sings in the Dark"

[derangedrhythms]

[…] the accusing, never-satisfied gods who surround me like a crown of thorns.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath — 16th September 1959