Chapter Text
Seraph
It crashed as loud as metal pots banging into each other - the waves glisten as lightning strikes the shore.
Voices sing and hum in haunting melodies and my wings are scorched to a crisp. I rise up and look at the sky - it parts and bleeds red. The stars howl and it hurts to look at them.
I am wailing, I am crying. The seraphs above play their music - it sounds hollow, and the strings of their harps cut me open. I am pulled apart - the earth below and the skies above.
I am nowhere, and yet I am.
1 shot
The harps fade in and out - the shore filled with musky mist that beckons me to follow its trails. The forest ahead is dark and luscious, a void of mysteries. I am lost and found, the earth crumbles beneath my feet as I stumble into the arms of spiky branches and trees that loom above.
I sleep under a canopy of stars that shoot their aim into my soul - if I ever even had one. I am an outcast, I have committed my sins, and I will bear the consequences.
That night, I hear whispers in my dreams - a voice like a siren, lips that envelope my pride and arms that hold my useless wings.
The sun scoffs at my naivety. I am in ignorant bliss, and my eyes crack open to a much sadder tune.
Mood
The woods are painted in psychedelic colours - they repulse me to my core. My head is filled with coins that rattle me awake, the voice getting louder. The moon is asleep, and I am at the mercy of the heat that singes my heart.
I hear him so clearly - the bane and the boon - the reason for my unlikely behaviour. The woods are his domain, and I am merely a servant to the birds that whistle their haunting tunes and who sing his name.
My day goes in search, in thirst, in burdened trudging as my wings drag me down - a cruel reminder of my circumstance. The mist sets thickly at my feet, and I drown in melodies that stick to my ears like sweet whiskey.
Little do I know, heaven has not prepared for my next encounter. Nor have my sins.
Miss Understood
Is it sinful to lust when all I can do is such? Is it sinful to whimper when he whispers sweet nothings in my being? Is it sinful to exist in lonesome when I have an extension of my soul lay in my arms? Is it sinful to feel the fear of losing the memory of his touch?
He is an encapsulation of what my faith refuses, of what derails my senses into simply wanting him and his forever, abundant, love.
If it’s a sin to love, you can call me a sinner.
Avalon
He touches my wings and beckons me inside. I melt at the sight of his scorching eyes, toasting me golden - as if he doesn’t know how black my soul is. His fingertips glisten with magic so pure, I shudder at its sight.
“Where do you want to be, my darling?”
With you, forever and more. My punishment is my paradise, you are my avalon.
His laugh cleanses my pride, I am reborn the moment his lips touch mine, and I am gasping for air as he drowns me in his waves. Am I blessed or am I cursed? Is this moment as fleeting as the sand that falls or as the eyes that blink?
Is this real or a cruel trick of the world?
Merry Go
The moon welcomes me with a sly grin, and my vision spins and blurs.
He is no longer there, and I am on a horrendous carousel that blares with memories forgotten.
I was the one who left. I was the one who displayed cowardice so strong that my love was left rotten in the shadows. I was the one who broke a heart so pure, it scorched and cursed me to an existence that is devoid of his being.
The carousel hurls me around until I’m sick. My mind is foggy as I forget him, as he refuses to let me remember him, remember us.
My prayers are left unheard, my tears of regret fill up an ocean, and I am left on the shore once again.
Begging, and without a trace of my love.