#➳ • • we are at the crossroads my little outlaw ; and this is the map of my heart ; the landscape after cruelty ⸢ wishlist / thea harlow

[neverpeace]

the harlow tags

#➳ • • everybody wonders what it would be like to love you ⸢ fc ; main / thea harlow ⸥ #➳ • • drawing hearts in the byline ; always taking up too much space or time ⸢ fc ; older / thea harlow ⸥ #➳ • • you're the sunflower ; i think your love would be too much ⸢ aesthetic / thea harlow ⸥ #➳ • • never be so polite you forget your power ; never wield such power you forget to be polite ⸢ study / thea harlow ⸥ #➳ • • sunflowers end up facing the sun ; but they go through a lot of dirt to thea harlow ⸥ #➳ • • on the last day of love my heart cracked inside my body ⸢ drabble / thea harlow ⸥ #➳ • • my love should be celebrated ⸢ music / thea harlow ⸥ #➳ • • this morning i told the flowers what i'd do for you ; and they blossomed ⸢ desires / thea harlow ⸥ #➳ • • you know that my train could take you home ; anywhere else is hollow ⸢ starter call / thea harlow ⸥ #➳ • • we are at the crossroads my little outlaw ; and this is the map of my heart ; the landscape after cruelty ⸢ wishlist / thea harlow #➳ • • yes i got your letter ; yes i’m doing better ⸢ answered / thea harlow ⸥

[patronsaintofelsewhere]

'snow & dirty rain' by richard siken is so aziracrow-coded (the good omens brain-rot is so strong and so crippling)

Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending to sleep, while I'm in the other room. Imagine my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots in the slatted light. I'm thinking My plant, his chair, the ashtray that we bought together. I'm thinking This is where we live. When we were little we made houses out of cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It's not because our hearts are large, they're not, it's what we struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring your friends. It's a potluck, I'm making pork chops, I'm making those long noodles you love so much. My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it's getting cold. 

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire, the gold light falling backward through the glass of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger. Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there? The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We've read the back of the book, we know what's going to happen. The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left broken in the brown dirt. And then it's gone.

Makes you sad. All your friends are gone. Goodbye Goodbye. No more tears. I would like to meet you all in Heaven. But there's a litany of dreams that happens somewhere in the middle. Moonlight spilling on the bathroom floor. A page of the book where we transcend the story of our lives, past the taco stands and record stores. Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one. We have been very brave, we have wanted to know the worst, wanted the curtain to be lifted from our eyes. This dream going on with all of us in it. Penciling in the bighearted slob. Penciling in his outstretched arms. Our father who art in Heaven. Our father who art buried in the yard. Someone is digging your grave right now. Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said, so think of the wind, so happy, so warm. It's a fairy tale, the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished halls, lightning here and gone. We make these ridiculous idols so we can pray to what's behind them, but what happens after we get up the ladder? Do we simply stare at what's horrible and forgive it?

Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are the monsters we put in the box to test our strength against. Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here's the desire to put it inside us, and then the question behind every question: What happens next? The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I'm alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling, and they're only a few steps behind you, finding the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren't stitched up quite right, the place they could almost slip right through if the skin wasn't trying to keep them out, to keep them here, on the other side of the theater where the curtain keeps rising. I crawled out the window and ran into the woods. I had to make up all the words myself. The way they taste, the way they sound in the air.

I passed through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is. So how would you catalog it? Dawn in the fields? Snow and dirty rain? Light brought in in buckets? I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters kept smudging as I wrote them: the hunter's heart, the hunter's mouth, the trees and the trees and the space between the trees, swimming in gold. The words frozen. The creatures frozen. The plum sauce leaking out of the bag. Explaining will get us nowhere. I was away, I don't know where, lying on the floor, pretending I was dead. I wanted to hurt you but the victory is that I could not stomach it. We have swallowed him up, they said. It's beautiful. It really is. I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want. You said Tell me about your books, your visions made of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube... 

We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me. Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

#good omens #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #richard siken #ineffable idiots

[pissyeti]

My dragonfly,

my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen

are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my

 little outlaw,

and this is the map of my heart,

#art farts #trigun stampede #vashwood #nicholas d wolfwood #vash the stampede #i wasnt gonna finish this tonight and then i did #so theres that

[baladric]

cried on my T journal today bc of the world and all its heaviness and siken and snow and dirty rain, just

My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it's getting cold. We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

#personal #richard siken

[echioceras]

boo! i'm in your askbox 👻 qotd: what is a quote that breaks your heart but maybe also puts it back together a little?

hey lil bro! okay so first of all so so so many mountain goats quotes. some faves are

"when you punish a person for dreaming his dream don't expect him to thank or forgive you the best ever death metal band out of denton will in time both outpace and outlive you"

"buzzing razor held aloft and just about to strike i loved you before i even ever knew what love was like"

"and in a pit behind the altar the bodies of the fallen heavy tracks up to the lip just to prove that they were crawling faces turned towards the sky that they would never see again victims of the fallout i have failed you, sweet young men"

"and i am coming to you with my mouth dripping"

and its sister "and i am coming home to you with my own blood in my mouth"

"i saw you knock the lamp over while reaching for the scissors and i wondered how we'd ever get by without it and you fell into my arms then, sweet and gentle poison in the water, little doubt about it and you said that one of us would be all alone someday and the truth of it echoed inexhaustibly up and down the thoroughfares all across bombay"

besides those just...all of siken's "snow and dirty rain." especially this part:

The attempt to say Come over. Bring your friends. It's a potluck, I'm making pork chops, I'm making those long noodles you love so much. My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it's getting cold. We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire, the gold light falling backward through the glass of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger. Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you?

#cricket chirps #letterbox #jordan tag

[glitterswitch-blade]

My dragonfly,

my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing

for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw,

and this is the map of my heart, the landscape

after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is

a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me

tight, it's getting cold. We have not touched the stars,

nor are we forgiven, which brings us back

to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes,

not from the absence of violence, but despite

the abundance of it.

- Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain

#the gentleness that comes #snow and dirty rain #literary quotes #richard siken

[malaisequotes]

“We are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it’s getting cold.”

Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken

#Snow and Dirty Rain #Richard Siken #Quote #Poetry #Crush

[paledarklight]

we are at the crossroads, my little outlaw,

and this is the map of my heart, the landscape

after cruelty

#richard siken #snow and dirty rain #bethyl #team delusional #soulmates

[nirikeehan]

Angsty Poem Prompts

I originally made this prompt list for personal use, but decided to make a rebloggable version. Feel free to use for your own writing prompts. 🥰

From Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken

Leave me blurry and fall toward me with your entire body.

Imagine my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots in the slatted light.

We can do anything. It’s not because our hearts are large, they’re not, it’s what we struggle with.

the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are at the crossroads, my little outlaw

and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it’s getting cold.

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven

which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and a gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

The lawn is drowned, the sky on fire, the gold light falling backward through the glass of every room.

I’ll give you my heart to make a place for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.

Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there?

We’ve read the back of the book, we know what’s going to happen.

The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left broken in the brown dirt.

And then it’s gone. Makes you sad. All your friends are gone. Goodbye Goodbye. No more tears.

I would like to meet you all in Heaven.

But there’s a litany of dreams that happens somewhere in the middle.

Moonlight spilling on the bathroom floor.

A page of the book where we transcend the story of our lives

Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.

We have been very brave, we have wanted to know the worst, wanted the curtain to be lifted from our eyes.

The dream going on with all of us in it. Penciling in the bighearted slob. Penciling in his outstretched arms.

Our Father who art in Heaven. Our Father who art buried in the yard.

Someone is digging your grave right now.

Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said, so think of the wind, so happy, so warm.

It’s a fairy tale, the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished halls, lightning here and gone.

We make these ridiculous idols so we can pray to what’s behind them, but what happens after we get up the ladder?

Do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?

Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are the monsters we put in the box to test our strength against.

Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here’s the desire to put it inside us, and then the question behind every question: What happens next?

The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive

but monsters are always hungry, darling, and they’re only a few steps behind you, finding the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren’t stitched up quite right

I crawled out the window and ran into the woods.

I had to make up all the words myself. The way they taste, the way they sound in the air.

I passed through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled around for a while, and stumbled back out.

I made this place for you. A place for you to love me.

If this isn’t the kingdom then I don’t know what is.

So how would you catalog it? Dawn in the fields? Snow and dirty rain? Light brought in in buckets?

I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters kept smudging as I wrote them

the hunter’s heart, the hunter’s mouth, the trees and the trees and the spaces between the trees, swimming in gold.

Explaining will get us nowhere.

I was away, I don’t know where, lying on the floor, pretending I was dead.

I wanted to hurt you but the victory is that I could not stomach it.

We have swallowed him up, they said. It’s beautiful, it really is.

We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me.

Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns.

We are all just trying to be holy.

We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

#writing prompts

[lacefuneral]

-Three excerpts from "Snow and Dirty Rain" from Crush (2005) by Richard Siken

[Transcript:]

Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close

to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me

with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending

to sleep, while I'm in the other room. Imagine

my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots

in the slatted light. I'm thinking My plant, his chair,

the ashtray that we bought together. I'm thinking This is where

we live. When we were little we made houses out of

cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It's not because

our hearts are large, they're not, it's what we

struggle with. The attempt to say Come Over. Bring

your friends. It's a potluck, I'm making pork chops, I'm making

those long noodles you love so much. My dragonfly;

my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing

for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw,

and this is the map of my heart, the landscape

after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is

a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me

tight, it's getting cold. We have not touched the stars,

nor are we forgiven, which brings us back

to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes,

not from the absence of violence, but despite

the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire,

the gold light falling backwards through the glass

of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place

for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.

Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars

for you? That I would take you there? The splash

of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube?

—•—

Moonlight making crosses

on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.

—•—

I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room

where everyone finally gets what they want.

You said Tell me about your books, your visions made

of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is

the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you

there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar

cube . . . We were in the gold room where everyone

finally gets what they want, so I said What do you

want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me. Here I am

leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome

burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,

my silent night, just mash your lips against me.

We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

#jay.pdf #mlm poetry #richard siken #crush #long post //

[nowsakshee]

“Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close

to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me

with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending

to sleep, while I'm in the other room. Imagine

my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots

in the slatted light. I'm thinking My plant, his chair,

the ashtray that we bought together. I'm thinking This is where

we live. When we were little we made houses out of

cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It's not because

our hearts are large, they're not, it's what we

struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring

your friends. It's a potluck, I'm making pork chops, I'm making

those long noodles you love so much. My dragonfly,

my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing

for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw,

and this is the map of my heart, the landscape

after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is

a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me

tight, it's getting cold. We have not touched the stars,

nor are we forgiven, which brings us back

to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes,

not from the absence of violence, but despite

the abundance of it.”

- snow and dirty rain, richard siken

#siken

[heartofspells]

15, 18,32, and 37?

Oooookay. This is now my second time trying to answer this. Thank you, tumblr, for eating my answer alkjfajfk

Hello, sweet!

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

I sometimes write in the margins, but I'm more of an occasional underliner/highlighter. Mostly I write whatever notes I want from a book somewhere else, mainly because there might be thoughts I don't want anyone else to see or read, or have them guessing WHY this particular part is important to me. And I never dog-ear. That should be criminal.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

--

"Sorry," he repeats. "How about we start again, Mr Black?"

Sirius realizes belatedly that he's gaping. He snaps his mouth closed and nods. The man's smile grows.

"I've looked over your file," he says, "along with your scans. I think I've put together a regimen that will be very beneficial if you'll allow me to try?"

Sirius is surprised by the question in the man's tone. Isn't he supposed to be told what he's meant to do? Ordered around until his stubbornness takes over and he eventually searches out someone new? He already feels off kilter, like he's landed on the wrong foot, kicked the ball too early and sent it shooting out of bounds.

"All right," he says slowly. "I'll give it a go, yeah."

The man beams at him happily. "Fantastic," he chirps. His energy is infectious to Sirius, bubbling up something warm inside him. "Well, Mr Black – actually, hang on a tic. I hate the formalities, I'll admit. Care if I call you Sirius instead?"

Sirius blinks again, once more thrown off his footing. "Er…'course, yeah. Hate the Black name, anyhow. I'd ditch it if I could."

"Brilliant!" the man says, grinning brightly, a small, deep chuckle emerging from his throat. "I'm Remus Lupin." He steps forward until he's in front of Sirius, stretching his hand out in offering. "Remus, if you please."

--

The thing about my writing is that not much changes in the editing phase other than a few minor shifts or adjustments. For the most part, what comes out the first time is what sticks, but I put a lot of thought into important parts before they're even written, which helps. But this scene from Healing Edge is one of the few scenes that I've ever completely changed. In the beginning, when I first had the idea for the fic and started writing, I had this entirely different scene written, a totally different vision for the entire fic. It was meant to be an enemies to lovers tale, but that very clearly changed and it all came down to this one scene.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it's getting cold.

This is from Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken and I love it, every single word. It even inspired a fic.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

Probably terrible things. They'd likely label me as miserable and insanely depressed and suffering from some sort of deep psychosis which is hilarious to me for a lot of different reasons. But really, I'd hope they'd at least look at what I've written and consider me insightful to some extent, firmly tapped into emotions and how people's heads work, and hopefully they'd mildly commend me for talking about those darker aspects of life others try to shy away from and hide in dark corners. Or maybe they'd just think I'm insane.

Send me weird questions if you'd like!

#weird writer questions #ask game #anon asks #ask #answer #lovely anons

[xneverpeacex]

 ( new ) thea tags

#☆ • • everybody wonders what it would be like to love you ⸢ fc ; main / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • drawing hearts in the byline ; always taking up too much space or time ⸢ fc ; older / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • you're the sunflower ; i think your love would be too much ⸢ aesthetic / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • never be so polite you forget your power ; never wield such power you forget to be polite ⸢ study / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • sunflowers end up facing the sun ; but they go through a lot of dirt to find their way there ⸢ headcanon / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • on the last day of love my heart cracked inside my body ⸢ drabble / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • my love should be celebrated ⸢ music / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • this morning i told the flowers what i'd do for you ; and they blossomed ⸢ desires / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • you know that my train could take you home ; anywhere else is hollow ⸢ starter call / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • we are at the crossroads my little outlaw ; and this is the map of my heart ; the landscape after cruelty ⸢ wishlist / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • yes i got your letter ; yes i’m doing better ⸢ answered / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • ❝ i'm begging for you to take my hand ; wreck my plans ❞ ⸢ rel. dannyreese / d. harlow ⸥ #☆ • • ❝ i love you for free ❞ ⸢ dyn. danny + thea ⸥ #☆ • • ❝ there is happiness because of you ❞ ⸢ willow harlow ⸥

[taylortruther]

i was recently reading richard siken’s “snow and dirty rain” and not only was it stunning but a lot of the poem reminds me of lover as an album, especially songs like the title track, the archer, and false god. (here’s the link to the poem, it’s super long sry: https://genius.com/Richard-siken-snow-and-dirty-rain-annotated).

first of all, never apologize for sharing richard siken or long poems with me!! secondly, beautiful choice. some notable lover-esque lines that jumped out at me:

My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it's getting cold.

(this is actually one of my favorite siken excerpts ever. "the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood"!!!! the map of his heart is a garden after cruelty... like it's been burned and razed to the ground)

-

Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there?

-

It's a fairy tale, the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished halls, lightning here and gone. We make these ridiculous idols so we can pray to what's behind them, but what happens after we get up the ladder?

-

I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is.

-

I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy.

#siken #parallels #poetry

[siken-archive]

Snow and Dirty Rain

Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending to sleep, while I'm in the other room. Imagine my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots in the slatted light. I'm thinking My plant, his chair, the ashtray that we bought together. I'm thinking This is where we live. When we were little we made houses out of cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It's not because our hearts are large, they're not, it's what we struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring your friends. It's a potluck, I'm making pork chops, I'm making those long noodles you love so much. My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it's getting cold. We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire, the gold light falling backward through the glass of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger. Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there? The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We've read the back of the book, we know what's going to happen. The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left broken in the brown dirt. And then it's gone. Makes you sad. All your friends are gone. Goodbye Goodbye. No more tears. I would like to meet you all in Heaven. But there's a litany of dreams that happens somewhere in the middle. Moonlight spilling on the bathroom floor. A page of the book where we transcend the story of our lives, past the taco stands and record stores. Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one. We have been very brave, we have wanted to know the worst, wanted the curtain to be lifted from our eyes. This dream going on with all of us in it. Penciling in the bighearted slob. Penciling in his outstretched arms. Our father who art in Heaven. Our father who art buried in the yard. Someone is digging your grave right now. Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said, so think of the wind, so happy, so warm. It's a fairy tale, the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished halls, lightning here and gone. We make these ridiculous idols so we can pray to what's behind them, but what happens after we get up the ladder? Do we simply stare at what's horrible and forgive it? Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are the monsters we put in the box to test our strength against. Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here's the desire to put it inside us, and then the question behind every question: What happens next? The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I'm alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling, and they're only a few steps behind you, finding the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren't stitched up quite right, the place they could almost slip right through if the skin wasn't trying to keep them out, to keep them here, on the other side of the theater where the curtain keeps rising. I crawled out the window and ran into the woods. I had to make up all the words myself. The way they taste, the way they sound in the air. I passed through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is. So how would you catalog it? Dawn in the fields? Snow and dirty rain? Light brought in in buckets? I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters kept smudging as I wrote them: the hunter's heart, the hunter's mouth, the trees and the trees and the space between the trees, swimming in gold. The words frozen. The creatures frozen. The plum sauce leaking out of the bag. Explaining will get us nowhere. I was away, I don't know where, lying on the floor, pretending I was dead. I wanted to hurt you but the victory is that I could not stomach it. We have swallowed him up, they said. It's beautiful. It really is. I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want. You said Tell me about your books, your visions made of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube... We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me. Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

#richard siken #snow and dirty rain #crush

[cobraking]

My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room,  a lover saying Hold me tight, it’s getting cold.

Snow and Dirty Rain - Richard Siken

#I guess I was in the mood to SUFFER today #cobra kai #lawrusso #the karate kid #ralph macchio #billy zabka #william zabka #daniel larusso #johnny lawrence #richard siken #edits