#this is based on the richard siken poem ofc!! (“you are jeff”) GO READ IT IF U HAVENT. IT CHANGED MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY AT THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN

[sentientsky]

you're in a car with a beautiful (not-) boy and you don't know how you've managed to stay intact this long, how you haven't fractured at the edges yet, lit up from the inside with all that aching, cataclysmic want you've fought so hard to keep quiet—to keep from thrashing in your chest like a sparrow against glass.

you're in a car with a beautiful not-boy, and you're not human but if you were, you're certain this longing would have killed you by now, would have left you in the cool green earth—rotted you down to the quick—a thousand times over (and if that didn't kill you, then the look in his eyes now certainly would). and you don't, can't, won't believe in god because how could She create such a being and then not let you press your palms to the side of his face, not let you hold him, not let you open your mouth like a confession box and tell him, there is a bird inside my chest and you are the center of every solar system and i'm willing to play the part of icarus if only you'd let me. and you don't/can't/won't believe in god, but his eyes open and its like the sun in a three-piece beige suit and you're pretty sure you stopped breathing the moment he got in the car (hell, you haven't tasted oxygen since the moment he stood on the cliffside, hands all empty of swords and fire).

you're in a car with a beautiful not-boy, and you're all spitfire and grief and six thousand years of whispered half-syllables into the dark of a lonely night, of savouring the way his name burns your tongue like sacrament (holy, holy, holy).

and he's handing you a thermos now, and his hand brushes yours and it's been nearly thirty years, and still you'd let him turn you to salt if it meant he might touch you again.

... but you go too fast for him. you always go too fast, with all your ugly, hollow-boned want and your burning yellow eyes and your hands, sullied with the weight of sin; fingertips that look more like claws than anything you'd ever want to touch with any scrap of volition.

and you're in your car with this beautiful boy who is not a boy and you're burning up, plummeting like a waxen-winged thing. and he's looking at you and you're falling, and the world is twisting around the edges, and he's stepping out of the car and your ribcage is becoming a slaughterhouse—an abattoir with all its knives turned up towards the sky. and then you're in a car, and you’re alone. and that is all.

#whoops my hand slipped #teehee #this is based on the richard siken poem ofc!! (“you are jeff”) GO READ IT IF U HAVENT. IT CHANGED MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY AT THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN #can u tell i project onto crowley?? can u?? #this probably has spelling mistakes and stuff sorry im tired lol. the punctuation errors are on purpose if that helps ajsdklaslkf #“plasma here is supposed to mean like plasma in terms of what the sun is made of. not blood plasma which derives from the marrow of bone yk #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #good omens #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley #go2 #ineffable lovers #ineffable wives #good omens season 2 #good omens poetry #good omens angst #gomens #gomens 2 #gomens angst #good omens 1967 #you go too fast for me crowley #crowley x arizaphale #aziraphale x crowley #on longing #on yearning #my poetry #anthony j crowley #wren writes crow