#helenatag

[ketterdcm]

when bullets start flying, you may find i’m nice to have around.

[ketterdcm]

I’m already a ghost.

inspired by @shirayukii & @tomura !

[ketterdcm]

bastard.

inspired by @tomura because talEnt

[ketterdcm]

you carry the sword through your soul as you watch a girl clutching a scarlet scarf  sing with candlesticks. there is a lady at the end of the bridge, she sells withered lettuce and brittle strawberries in a basket lined with terror headlines -- sometimes you wonder about snowfall; what does each flake feel, being confined to the physics of free fall (flying), why do some bits of fractured water soften the knives of mountain peaks while others make warm lips flinch? an unraveling of thread \ wool, garnet coursing down the stone slope in twisted angles, a play on the cold, a play on the rays, a susurrus from the bottom of the mountain.  take the black card. is it white when you flip it around? simply: how many crimson characters  can you read? how many rusty streaks do you see?  when you sleep, do you dream of the bride -- or have you only been waiting for first snow to fall upon cherry blossoms once more? tie the scarf around your throat. two options: which do you hang? as you wait for her at the foot of the mountain, wrap your heart in your hands. wrap your hands in the scarf.  she forgets sometimes, when she sings. take your seven tombstones to the foot of the mountain and distract them with dandelions. you are her guardian; take care.

if the dandelions were snow | a.k.

inspired by goblin (쓸쓸하고 찬란하神 - 도깨비)

for prompt #6 by @nepenthenet​

[ketterdcm]

let’s think of the moon as a person, because it’s easier to think of the moon that way. the moon arriving one day and making her space her home. the moon getting lost because there’s no light to aid her vision. the moon wandering around a blue-green solid significantly more significant than her, because the moon has been caught in its wonder. the moon looking two stops away into the jupiter crowd and feeling a little needle protruding from her chest. the moon looking down and feeling badass at the thought of being unable to fall. the moon gesturing for a couple of stars to join in her conversation with the sun. the moon. the sun. the moon watching the sun watch its solar-powered society. the moon struggling to conform to social norms. the moon catching a star and keeping it safe. the moon feeding the star. the moon staring at the sun for too long and blinking away, turning away. the moon and the shadows that whisper dangerous nothings to her. the moon hating herself for having to give away some of the glow the sun made her. the moon taking a bag of rays from mercury and feeding them to her star. the moon finally glancing again at the blue-green thing to see that it has greyed, having smoked a few too many cigarettes. the moon looking away to not breathe in and catch the decaying. the moon getting caught looking at the sun. being told off by mars. the moon moving away for a little and tripping over her shadows. the moon throwing too many rays into her star. the star feeling a little overwhelmed, and exploding. the moon clamping onto the star and placing it in her ear. the sun getting upset. the sun shaking her head and telling the moon to go while dancing with the earth. the moon taking the blue-green-tinted cigarette lighter and turning away again, because she’s realised that even if she wanted to fall, she simply wouldn’t be able to.

the moon looking down | a.k.

[ketterdcm]

look, sweetheart, do you remember when we touched the sun? we kept our arms high & our fingers strained to grow a little more. our skin screamed from the heat but the echoing sighs from our gentle bones let us smile at each other under the bright white oh, darling, i whisper, as i touch your cheek & it lifts. do you recall the day we danced amongst the tattered lilies and the wildflowers the scattered bees and the scared flies? you hummed against my neck and I leaned against your chest. i lean against the tired oak and stare at the star you've become. i think of the times we'd touched & the chances we took. you were my flower; it's only fitting that you wilted earlier  than the dusk roses.

you’d think it was dawn. // a.k,

[ketterdcm]

i have a pistol in one hand & a pen knife in the other & the things that kill me are the words that left her mouth eleven months ago i live in a dollhouse where the rooms burned down one by one brick by brick kerosene: a metaphor for the air that i breathe i hold the bullets above  my head & they drop down like dead dasies in a birdcage in a house built on bones gunpowder: it's what  tore the limbs from my mind i have a flask faced down on my stomach & it empties liquid ropes to be made into necklaces string: a flimsy sort of thing my heart doesn't have

i am the shooter. i am the shot.  // a.k.