#padic

[fastaro]

[girlundrowned]

princess and dragon in convers(at)ion: SEVEN.

and they all lived

h a p p i l y

ever after.

[girlundrowned]

princess and dragon in convers(at)ion: seven.

There comes a day when we do not recognize each other.

We lock together still, yes, because that is the nature of things. That’s magnetism, opposite poles pulled together by the thousands. We see our pasts in each other’s eyes, and we see each other now and realize that each one of us is a history of the other. Secret-keeping, that’s what all of this comes down to. This love clings to me like the plague, and oh, the death toll is something to behold.

Collapse, supernova, apocalypse. Pretty words for a downward spiral—ring-around-the-rosie—that happens all at once. They all rest like wasted ammunition on my tongue.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

Our meals are spent in silence. We face each other across my table, looking for closure or attention or something more. I no longer know what to call you: lover or mortal enemy? Even our conversations are a game of chance.

We have come to an impasse, and everything waits on the brink. Time starts to stand still.

And here we are, at the end of all things, and we’re finally telling the truth for the first time in our lives.

[girlundrowned]

princess and dragon in convers(at)ion: SIX.

i have grown weak, and

i love myself and you all the more for it.

i come into bloom. it is spring, i tell myself.

it is spring and the cold does not come

for another year. look how the clouds turn gold.

look how they refuse to be snuffed out.

but then there’s you: nightmare wrapped in stardust,

killer to the core. i tremble, i sigh, i hold you tight,

and i think there’s a poem to be found

in this, but you’ve been blinded to it.

still i whisper sweet rose-scented nothings.

still you whisper them back.

but the music has faded to black

and the flowers have withered away.

(so this is  d e s o l a t i o n .

so this is the underworld. so this

is what it’s like to die.)

[girlundrowned]

princess and dragon in convers(at)ion: six.

I am a monster—beauty is terror, they say—and my name is a scream.

My chest, hollow. My skin, bitter to the touch. My voice, toneless; no language of men or monarchs can reach me now. My joints are age-old, laden with lies, and they crackle as I move. Even my mind is a tempest, every thought a gale fit to sweep empires away.

I am glacial, graceful, gruesome. A horror made flesh.

The diner is no longer graced by my steps. My days as a waitress, a mere mortal, are long forgotten. I’m dead to that world now, rising to an ancient name. I don’t just take your breath away anymore—I rip it from your throat. I learn the meaning of greed all too fast, and I put it to the test.

You don’t object, lovely soft thing that you are. How obligingly you fold under me. How neatly I finish you.

When it’s over and done, every time, neither of us makes a sound.

[girlundrowned]

princess and dragon in convers(at)ion: FIVE.

you start leaving every day.

after your walks,

i don’t ask where you’ve been.

it’s enough that you’ve returned at all.

we settle in for the day. the sun goes down

like an angel lowered into the grave.

carefully, tenderly,

i peel back your layers

and try not to quiver

at a glimpse of your center:

molten, roiling, primeval—

from the belly of the earth itself.

you come back to me cracked,

every single day,

and past your porcelain skin

i think i start to see  s c a l e s .

[girlundrowned]

princess and dragon in convers(at)ion: five.

On Tuesday, I skip work. I leave the apartment without telling you and walk down to the riverbank by our building. I’m swimming in daylight like oil, slick and deadly, and I can already feel it seeping into me. Already I regret leaving you, regret leaving my tower of an apartment. I’ve shed my damsel skin and exposed something not as pretty underneath.

It’s good, then, that I am finished with being in distress.

When I get there, I stare into the glassy water, tracing over the knife-curve of my cheekbones. I am sharpening them.

I want the next hand that dares to touch them to come away with scars.

[girlundrowned]

princess and dragon in convers(at)ion: FOUR.

i don’t go home for a week.

instead i waste away, get a taste

of life in the castle. we’ve both lost

all hope of rescue.

i turn towards the sunrise

and do not flinch. you grow

more at home in the shadow.

we seldom speak, and when we do

my voice no longer sounds like

it’ll light you up. yours isn’t

kindling anymore.

some days, i find myself shrinking,

s o f t e n i n g ,

and my heart rattles,

out of fear or love or both.

i want to sit you down and ask:

who spears a monster

for sport, darling? is it you?

is it me? do i hold your heart

in my hands

and should i let it fall? will anyone know

what treasons we have laid down

in the dark?