Send a line in and I will write a drabble inspired by it for our muses.
‘ Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again. ‘
‘ …it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget that they are horses. ’
‘ It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio ’
‘ …the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces. ‘
‘ Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. ’
‘ Tell me we’ll never get used to it. ’
‘ Someone once told me that explaining is an admission of failure. ’
‘ History repeats itself. Somebody says this ’
‘ History throws its shadow over the beginning, ’
‘ so I wanted to sleep with him— ’
‘ the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire
not to disturb the air around him. ‘
‘ Everyone could see the way his muscles worked, ’
‘ his skin barely keeping him inside. ’
‘ His wounds healed, the skin a bit thicker than before, scars like train tracks on his arms and on his body underneath his shirt. ’
‘ Sunlight pouring across your skin, your shadow flat on the wall. ’
‘ The dawn was breaking the bones of your heart like twigs. ’
‘ You had not expected this, ‘
‘ You raised your hand to your face as if to hide it, the pink fingers gone gold as the light streamed straight to the bone, ’
‘ The light is no mystery, the mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through. ’
yousharknotpass
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snowghoul
