Hexchen and the Moon

[silverlit-hexchen]

The Well

when all you have ever wanted poisons the well you will drink deep and savor the rot taking succor in its fetid embrace when they ask you how it feels you will bare your teeth - a grin so foul and say “It’s all I’ve ever wanted”

Alfred Kubin - Der Sumpf, 1903–05

[ruhaniya]

I'm too exhausted to explain my soul to someone again.

[silverlit-hexchen]

I wasn’t surprised when you left.

I always knew you would.

My breath held in stasis,

waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Hope is a tenuous thing—

fragile like a whisper.

Each night, I whispered, “Not yet.”

With everything in me, I hoped—pleaded—

for more time.

To delay the inevitable:

that you’d grow tired of me.

I know I’m tiring.

The exhaustion plagues me every day.

I’ve seen how it infects.

How the spark fades from their eyes.

I saw it leave yours.

Felt the detachment in your voice.

The distance in your silence.

It’s a desperate creature,

this thing inside me.

It clings—

digs its claws into your back as you go.

You escaped.

And left me with the gore.

And the cruel part is—

I get it.

I don’t want me either.

[silverlit-hexchen]

Which one?

As I bleed out, you lean over me

and with a smile, you say —

“You dodged a bullet.”

Glassy-eyed and light-headed from the blood loss,

I ask you:

Which one?

The first bullet only grazed me.

Skin split like an overripe peach,

the shock of the hit enough to bring me to my knees.

The second bullet was not a clean shot.

Its entry wound festered —

metal fragments twisted, mangled beneath my flesh.

The pain became a dull, ever-present ache.

The third bullet lodged in my spine.

Paralyzed instantly,

reducing me to a crawling creature.

The fourth bullet hit its mark.

Straight through the heart,

and out my back.

This alone should’ve killed me.

But breath lingered.

And the sick truth is —

I didn’t dodge the fifth bullet.

I begged for it.

One hand gripping the barrel,

I pleaded to be hit.

And it dodged me.

So I ask you again:

Which one did I dodge?

Because I’ve been keeping count.

I haven’t dodged a single bullet.

I threw myself into the line of fire,

again, and again,

until even the gun took pity on me.

[silverlit-hexchen]

Infection

Talking to you is like picking at an infected wound

The itch to keep you in my orbit becomes unbearable

I scratch at the scab with a sigh of relief and a twist in my gut

I know this is making me sick,

But I love to watch the blood and pus ooze

The dull ache - a shadowy remnant of the pain you brought -

Reminds me of what remains of us

A festering wound it may be - but it is mine

The fever must be getting to me

I know I need help

I know I need to heal before this kills me

But to heal is to lose you

So I keep picking at the wound and let the fever dream take me

Santa Rosalia - Roberto Ferri

[silverlit-hexchen]

Maüschen

Your little mouse

How did it feel, watching me scurry and squeal — after coaxing me out of my hollow?

Did you feel my heart flutter when you held me? A heartbeat so frantic, my whole body shivered.

Was it thrilling, holding something so small and fragile?

As I let go of fear and leaned into your warmth — did you picture how easy I’d be to crush?

I burrowed into your palm and closed my eyes, let trust lull me into a dream.

And then you let go — watched my small body hit the cold floor.

In my daze, I whimpered and searched for you, sure you hadn’t dropped me on purpose.

But when I looked up, your eyes were cold.

Was I beautiful as I plummeted through the air? Dignified in my landing?

Were you captivated by the red of my blood — smearing white linoleum?

Your little mouse, dragging her broken body back into her desolate hole.

[silverlit-hexchen]

I Hope This Haunts You

A curse disguised as closure. A love letter turned elegy.

I hope it hurts

I hope every word burns

A burn that burrows into the skin and takes root

The fire that was my love for you

What does it feel like?

Shame? Guilt? Regret?

Is the smoke rising from the embers of my heart—

constricting the air in your lungs?

I hope it feels heavy

I hope it presses on your chest

The weight of my grief

The weight of your betrayal

Does it shorten your breath?

Do you feel dread deep in your bones?

Is the gravity of your cowardice—

anchoring you to the bottom of the sea?

I hope I haunt you

I hope you catch my scent in the breeze

See my smile in every girl that passes you by

I hope the next time someone looks at you

with love and hope in their eyes

with devotion on their lips

you think of me

and feel ill

I used to have hope

That bloomed like the flowers in spring

I used to have hope

That poured out in abundance

Showering you with my warmth

But you have soured the well

Made the fields barren

And my hope

turn to rot