cozy little poetry bench

fern ~ they/them

[smolbeansprout]

[sonhodehibisco]

sonho de hibisco.

[tall]

Has science gone too far

[polaroidsandthoughts]

showing her sensitive soul II

[intactics-deactivated20250505]

caught you containing multitudes bro lmao i love every glittering facet

[smolbeansprout]

bear claw

the fire, when in service, 

brings the dead to life, the deft sear

to lacerated flesh, my knife

opening a wound down to the nurturing place

smoke wrapped around the tongue

like a question that no one will 

answer, like the noose’s heavy stare

which lingers in the gut and 

paces, thundering feet like 

the warning before teeth

rolling in from the back of the throat

taste this, and close your eyes

there is finally a breath, sighing the shoulders

back down under the press of time

spent assembling the heart onto a plate

in the only way that we’ve learned to speak

of this unnamable feeling

something untamed and thrashing

stuck in the shrill stripping of seconds

from me, hands always late

forged in the bedlam, the cacophonic

noise follows me everywhere, like a shroud

i’ve wrapped the bear up in, grieving

for the reach of a quiet understanding

sketching something i’ve never known

and cracking under the slip of distance

the chaos of the familiar stalking my blood 

hackles raised like prey, but there is another

root rubbing its fist at the chest, rasping 

apology unleashes the steam

the sinking revelation that we both

felt relief in the possibility of burning

everything down, the reduction to simple ash

soothing to a gaping corner of the mind

i am in the fire, still and quiet,

not in fear, but in sweet oblivion 

only now settling into the knowledge

that the dust is drifting onto your tongue

bittering the flavor of the heart on your plate

i have no dull knife to scrape it off with

so i pierce you, blood into the fire

[smolbeansprout]

Couldn’t Tell who was the Monster (in that Light)

iii: afternoon.

golden field waving to

a brown, spindly hillside

from the inside of my window

they could be feathered and velvet,

the hair on the scruff of a gentle beast, sleeping

distance giving my sight

the allowance for softening

against the memory of bristled spikes

the spilling of blood

comes readily, and is short-lived

but the sharp, bald wound

opens it soreness again and again

you can sanitize it -

the rift between skin and bone -

but the sting of alcohol

cannot clear the feeling which festers

at night

the apparition of a moment

reflected against cornered mirrors

something of truth can remain, but angled in such a way

that the self slips in

colors the wallpaper green

with its shaking thoughts

crinkling like dry bones through my hair

i: midnight.

through the mirror, i could see

the silver dagger glinting

on the edge of the desk

across the room, mocking me

with a flashing grin, you are stalking

closer to the center of us

while i am stationary, trying to read

something out of silence

in the flat stone of your eye

my understanding slips like water

past you and whatever lay below

turning you over in my hand like a river rock

searching for the gold i saw

when you were submerged

soaked to the bone with desire

i could put you down

to replace the emptiness in my palm

with a blade,

but you are watching me watching you

move in the mirror

and a knowing passes between

us like a damp breeze

knotting slips in the throat

where it refuses to go down easy

though i thought

i could swallow

all the rough edges

of this loving, and make them smooth

like the water splits itself over granite

endlessly opening, to pave the way for softness

thought i could absorb

the red, red scythe and cast it silvered moon blue

in the night sky, a promise made

in place of a wish, on something glinting

whether blade or blinking star -

both are pointed,

and heavy with death by the time they reach the eye

beholding

ii: dawn.

lo, the day has come yet again with its aching light,

persistent in its dogged rising

golden over the ashbrown hillside

it reaches the eye that watches from the window

and tries its best to not

flicker to the mirror

reflecting pools of red

and glinting silver in the hand

the moon will be just a sliver

less than full by nightfall

its shrinking is felt already

in the burning of the sun

and in the hair on the scruff of my neck

which is lowering back down

crawling towards you, prone on the ground

[fleur-aesthetic]

instagram | farmgirlsk

[florealegiardini]

[nevver]

Mars is cold as Hell, Jonas Daley

[gacougnol]

Tomoyuki Yamagishi

[jumpedoverthemoon]

Peaceful reading nooks 🍵☕️

[quiet-nymphs-blog]

[beholdingslut]

[mossyredwood]

Spirits of broken branches

By Ivan Khanzhin

[loveless-anime-deactivated20230]

[nevver]

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