#doomedpoets

[nehmesis]

To Burn / Demi Ev. 🕯

[pushkins]

Ignoring me has never deterred me. I live under your skin, I’m part of your soul.

Eliot C. 

[gessekaii]

Moodboard→ Artemis, the moon goddess.

[kocshei]

Tell me the blood of gods spilled, and thus were born my ancestors. Tell me I carry war and siren songs in my ribs. Tell me you see empires in my eyes. Tell me I'm pure tell me i could never be infernal could never be hellborne could never carry crackling cackling curses— Tell me no lies.

the search.

[xingflowers]

The moon has me in tidal lock. 
 I imagine my lips on his. My hands in his. My body with his. My mind is in a dense daydream, and I cannot tell what’s reality. 
 Is this what my mother felt? The feeling of being high in a smokey euphoria, that she gave away her body five times to a man. God forbid I repeat her footsteps and give myself away four more times. 
 I am afraid of the consequences for throwing myself over a cliff. 
 In this fall, the moon is my witness and she is responsible for my madness. She calls me Icarus, she calls me a foolish woman. She calls me Izanami, who burns. 
 I am Lilith, angry and lustful. 
 I am Juliet Capulet, naive and unfortunate. 
 I am Lady Akashi, who sacrifices and suffers. 
 To love this deeply is my grave mistake. My mistake in which it brought me the most happiness. 
 If I love this harshly, it may create my soft landing, my soft death. 
 I ask the moon for help, but instead she smiles and watches me fall. 
 I’ve asked too late.

G. | To Fall, To Love This Harshly

[pushkins]

Time is a construct split in three — the only law of the universe that cannot be violated by divine beings — they adapt, waiting for Ragnarok's biting cold.

Urd stands at the beginning of all things, starts collecting memories in a jar. She exists only in the past; her image a faded photograph filled with the regrets accumulating inside the closet, she lingers in the dusty memories from yesterday and reminds you of loss.

Sometimes she will paint nostalgia for you in pleasant shades of pink and lies — Urd is always smiling, waiting for people to look.

— (p)ast; (a)bstract; p.1 || Eliot C. for @dracoslorean || Commissions|| ☕ ||

[pushkins]

Apollo does not understand moderation; when he loves it is with his entire being: ivory bones aching, ichor filled veins singing, marble skin burning. No matter how many times Eros pierces his heart with gold-tip arrows, he throws himself without regrets.

Regrets only happen later, when bodies have cooled in his arms and he is forced to preserve them somehow so that they can stay with him forever.

Apollo does not take precautions when Hyacinthus appears in his line of vision- all slender, hair touched by Zephyrus’ gentle breeze. That fact alone should have been sufficient warning, but Apollo has been so lonely - the sensation gnawing on his immortal bones. 

And Hyacinthus is sun-kissed, his skin pliable and warm beneath his fingers. Apollo sighs and falls once more - promises this lover will be his last.

- apollo’s gallery of lovers || Eliot C. for @apollonic || Commissions|| ☕ ||

[pushkins]

Helen is a wonder of technology — human enough to touch, sufficiently mechanical to log onto the O.L.Y.M.P.U.S. network where the divine A.I.s wage wars with stock markets and incriminating emails gone public.

If they want they can shut down the power grid that harvests food (it happened once — lasted six months while H.A.D.E.S. absconded off planet with K.O.R.E. through the satellite network in orbit). Helen, however, is a prize at the reach of humanity —

She smiles as her suitors line up Promises her beauty (after all, synthetic hearts mean nothing) in exchange for a war.

— H.E.L.en; dystopia myths || Eliot C. || Commissions|| ☕ ||