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Lemosyne the River of forgetfulness

My hours are married to Shadows....

“In the hours they spent chewing my bones, I grew a stone for my heart, and poisoned the rivers that ran through me. I studied the bloodless moon.”

“Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them.”

I want to be consumed, like a poem read by a hungry heart, like willing prey when a beast licks marrow right off the bone.
Both the ephemeral and the grittily real; both the emotional and physical. I want to be hunted like a mystery to unravel, eaten like a delicious treat. Inhaled.
Lusted after.
2 hours ago. September 28, 2022 at 10:44 AM

It’s not so bad, my darling. Being dead.

It’s like being alive, only colder.

Things taste less.

They feel less.

You forget, little by little, who you were.


~Catherynne M. Valente


5 days ago. September 22, 2022 at 2:07 PM

back into the dark.

the old familiar passage.

back into the gross of lowborn dreams.



1 week ago. September 16, 2022 at 10:17 PM

“A savage desire for strong emotions and

sensations burns inside me:

a rage against this soft-tinted,

shallow, standardized and sterilized life,

and a mad craving to smash something up,

a department store, say,

or a cathedral, or myself.”

~Hermann Hesse


1 week ago. September 15, 2022 at 2:46 PM

My mother boils seawater.

It sits all afternoon simmering on the stovetop, almost two gallons in a big soup pot.

The windows steam up and the house smells like a storm.

In the evening, a crust of salt is all that’s left at the bottom of the pot.

My mother scrapes it out with a spoon. We each lick a fingertip and dip them in the salt and it’s softer than you’d think, less like sand and more like snow.

We lay our fingertips on our tongues, right in the middle. It tastes like salt but like something else, too—wide, and dark.

It tastes like drowning, or like falling asleep on the shore and only waking up when the tide has come up to your feet and you wonder if you’d gone on sleeping, would you have sunk?”


2 weeks ago. September 13, 2022 at 4:51 PM

"He ran his tongue over her bruised knees and she was immediately overwhelmed by the intimacy between skin and bone,

by the feeling of his wet front teeth,

by the wetness of her purple and yellow trauma swelling just beneath the surface.

It was always there, an invisible pollution, but finally it had risen and

                            —dear God—somebody wanted to kiss it.

Sometimes her body was a swimming pool full of dead bees and foliage, and sometimes she liked that better.

It kept the delicate boys away.

When she was little and lived by the sea, she swam a lot and was fearless with her body.

She let herself be thrashed and turned about by wave after wave, this way and that way.

Her grandmother always said Never turn your back on the ocean, because you never knew what might be coming in.

She used to think about sharks and stingrays, then tidal waves, then she thought about a horizon full of big white sails.

Still, she always felt safe in the water, and she welcomed the invasion."

~Tati Tibble




2 weeks ago. September 12, 2022 at 8:05 AM


"She has the moon in her mind,

that’s why stars spill off her lips."


Camille. -s.p. 


2 weeks ago. September 9, 2022 at 7:59 AM

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈, 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈

3 weeks ago. September 7, 2022 at 2:02 AM

“Survival is equally meaningless after the experience of nothingness and after the paroxysm of sexual pleasure.


I can’t understand why people do not commit suicide during orgasm, why they don’t think survival commonplace and vulgar.


Such an intense though brief quiver should reduce us to ashes in seconds.

But if it does not kill us, we should ourselves.”

~ Emil Cioran


3 weeks ago. September 1, 2022 at 8:42 PM

He finds time for song:

While I wait for you,

I can’t wait for you

I can’t read Dostoevsky

or listen to Umm Kulthum or Maria Callas

or anyone else.


While I wait for you the hands

in my wristwatch move to the left,

to a time hat has no place,

while I wait for you

I didn’t wait for you,

I waited for eternity.

~Mahmoud Darwish


3 weeks ago. September 1, 2022 at 9:17 AM



don't get too close

i'll turn you into poetry