via's pretentious writing blog

poetry and prose blog. I will keep my own work here as well as writing resources there might also be fanfic, oh boy my main is spincontroller if you're interested in a writing commission, please ask! everything is okay to reblog

[goldenapplebalm]

hey everyone i’m here now https://spincontroller.tumblr.com/ i remade. for anyone who is still here. hello

[highabovetheland]

we stop in the midst of the tangled rungs of strings in the corner

 “they were once used to handle control to wrest object from enmities, enemies; and the puppets designed to resemble an ensemble of grizzled souls with pale faces donning long gowns and sharpened noses, with reddened chins and tired expressions resided here; when the wren cries they shake away as the wings bear their own jagged ragged examples of calamity

“

 we stop in the midst of the tangled rungs of strings in the corner. they say there is nothing left for us

[highabovetheland]

his hands, stained with honey

his hands, wrought with iron

[highabovetheland]

[highabovetheland]

he imagined it once, however. underneath the chestnut tree--his name. his feet meshed into untainted soil beyond the grass. he crunched on the lifeless bark there by himself in solitude, chewing away at it bit by bit and spitting it out behind him. he would reach for the bark scraps on the ground by the tree’s roots, snatch away the bark and stuff it into the sleeve of his robe. he threw himself against the tree’s trunk for slumber--he surmised his attempts to catch it this time might bear fruit.

[highabovetheland]

throw the ashes / in the water

[highabovetheland]

[highabovetheland]

[highabovetheland]

i’m touching the cold happiness. i’m airing it out until it dries. i peel off pale flakes that make themselves visible in the sunlight; they’re not needed anymore. i make them mine. i place one on my shoulder, on my chest, i sprinkle them in my hair.

[highabovetheland]

but I know that killing is not about winning

[fkjshfkhdfksdhfksdhjsksdf]

His voice was a bough of silver coins all tinged red on the edges, their surfaces smooth and glistening in the center. When he spoke of the war, the coins rubbed against each other and sounded like bells at the back of his throat. They sounded like worry and the calls of infant birds in the spring.

[goldenapplebalm]

When she speaks I feel the sun

breathing on me. Young birds peek from underground nests on a separate dimensional plane; they seek guidance the same way I do. Let this be a reminder of the truth in your golden tresses and silver wisdom as you whisk yourself wistfully into my canopies; let them simmer softly in your soft season.

[goldenapplebalm]

I have natural indigo hair as of five years ago, rich as thick midnight lined with clouds.

I arrive and the hero trembles. He has not felt fear before until now. I hang mutilated words along the patio outside. “I killed them,” I say. “I killed these words and now they’re free.” In the air he can hear tlang, arangle, areolan, grasshaven. He cannot take another step—the words won’t let him.

[goldenapplebalm]

I sit content in the dusky dungeon waiting for you to reappear and give me the assessment we’re all waiting for but the library of neon lights allows no mistakes to be made and I shift my feet in the tinged-with-purple corner and I light a cigarette and I tap my foot and I tap the air and finally you log off. That’s one way to do it you say, we’re making progress here and I shift my stance until the letter arrives, unboldened and cold-white in your hands. Comic book thieves in the 3.1 gray, you said. The superhero has no name but wears a white-with-leather spandex cover all over except the blue head. Finally I log off. I touch the letter but I don’t take it from you.

[highabovetheland]

the young feelings wither away. they splay their limbs towards the smallest details they can find, and they wait. each individual fir needle contracts and becomes a flower; there is no blooming here.

[highabovetheland]

win some, lest

you lose.

no definition for a word that exists everywhere. “is this a scrabble word?” swallow your pride.

you’ve got to be willing to settle for things you don’t understand. he said, sometimes it’s the only way to learn, to eat the sounds that slither through the crevices in the wood below your feet; chew and chew until it is silent.

unhinge what they want from your arms like thick metal rails, setting each rod against each other in every neat groove fit for each one. in each move you calculate the sun its rays searching  for the silence between your teeth.

[highabovetheland]

are sunsets a subset of sky