Whiskey's writing

just a place where i can stash my writing and other people's writing, like a dragon's treasure hoard

[ahotknife]

the thing is that childhood doesn't just end when you turn 18 or when you turn 21. it's going to end dozens of times over. your childhood pet will die. actors you loved in movies you watched as a kid will die. your grandparents will die, and then your parents will die. it's going to end dozens and dozens of times and all you can do is let it. all you can do is stand in the middle of the grocery store and stare at freezers full of microwave pizza because you've suddenly been seized by the memory of what it felt like to have a pizza party on the last day of school before summer break. which is another ending in and of itself

[clearestbluest]

<3

[shining-bewear]

[whiskey-soaked-writing]

Once upon a time, you called

for me to lay upon your shady ground,

to lay beneath your crown of leaves,

to lick my wounds and feel the pleasant breeze.

I thought of you as if you were my brother,

as if you were my kin.

You with your thorny leaves,

me with my sharp claws and teeth.

You once begged for me to set you free.

And so I did.

I helped, as much as a lone wolf could,

despite the cuts you caused and all the blood.

Only to be tossed aside

and forgotten in the shady wood.

Left for dead, left to become maggot food.

The crystal-clear mirror

I saw in your image,

now shattered to pieces,

can’t ever be salvaged.

How could I have ever thought

of you as fondly as a brother,

when you’re nothing but a thorny bush,

looking for another victim to smother.

[whiskey-soaked-writing]

I roam these haunted halls of blood and bone

following the footsteps of shadows whose faces I'll never know,

who might have called me their own

once before.

Yet I never was

and I refuse to ever be.

I'll drain my veins

until I've formed a sea,

until crimson covers the horizon,

until it's everything I see.

I'll carve my bones

and shed my skin,

rip out my hair and eyes and teeth,

until there's nothing left of me,

until there's nothing left of them,

until even their faded footsteps cease to be.

I am not the shadows',

I reject their haunted halls,

their cursed blood and bones.

They chose to cast me out

and since then I've been my own.

I've built my own mausoleum

where one day I'll rest my bones

with no curse to weight me down,

no shadows to haunt my halls.

[whiskey-soaked-writing]

Mother, let me lay my head in your lap.

We can pretend I'm a puppy dog

tame and calm, at your beck and call

and not the wolf you raised as your own.

We can pretend I'm a baby lamb,

soft and white as snow,

your own flesh and bone.

Not the bloody intruder you raised as your own.

Mother, wrap me in linens.

We can pretend I won't rip them

with my teeth and my claws.

We can pretend father won't shoot me

when the morning bird caws

and he learns it was a beast you raised as your own.

[aureliusfortunatus]

[carrion-comfort-poetry]

“An ode to Liaka”

13lbs of scruff, hopping and weaving through cold Moscow streets

Scooped up by scientists who knew she would never return to them

Called bug and little lemon behind close doors

Taken to play with children, to be loved as part of a family for one night

Kissed on the forehead and wished safe travels

Liaka the space dog, forever to change humanity

Do you think she knew how much she was loved? How people would continue to talk about her for many years?

Do you wonder if she passed peacefully? Do you think she forgives us?

[spiderarchive]

I had to destroy a part of myself to survive. I had to leave her there in a burning house. She can never leave. She burns so that I can live.

[scrb1a]

[heart-of-poetry]

I am more my father’s child than my mother’s daughter. I wish I could say the opposite, but it would not be true. I am clenched fists with nails digging into my skin. I am marked with scars inflicted by my own hands. I am shaking with anger. I have sharp teeth and I bite. If you tried to get close to me, I would run. I am my father’s daughter. I have his nose and his eyes and his anger that is too big for my heart to hold.

[whiskey-soaked-writing]

I miss it.

I wish I could go back to that time.

Inject myself into the wires, become illusory eternal in the Web of Code.

A star hurling itself towards its inevitable supernova.

Something holy, a false idol, a temporary hope.

A blissful lie.