This is where all of my writing is placed! Such literary pieces include, but are not limited to:
• Poetry
• Fiction
• Characters
• Sociology
Please note, said publications may also contain: LGBT+, sexual/violent, and otherwise sensitive content. Discretion is advised, but please browse at your leisure.
m e l a n c h o l i a by Orphically, literature
Literature
m e l a n c h o l i a
Sebastian stood beside him, with all the efficacy of a practiced butler. It was he that remained permanent in the young master’s ephemeral life, perpetual and unwavering. How ironic is it, the earl mused laconically, that the only loyalty in my life is the demon I’ve formed a contract with.
Oh -- but to say that would be disingenuous, and Ciel lamented the fact. There was Elizabeth -- there was always his Elizabeth. Lizzy in all her inexorable tenacity. Lizzy, who had, in all her ebullience been committed to dress, and courtesy, and Shakespeare and Thoreau. Lizzy, who had, at thirteen, broken his blue sapphire heirloom ring in al
i. i am, by nature, a very
forgetful person. i
remember that i have to
remember something but
i don't know what it is
and, so when he approaches me,
i think about how i should
know who he is—not
by name, but by reputation
i don't remember anything
except how unpleasant the
smoke clinging to his bomber
jacket was or how my hips
bruised under his calloused fingers
ii. in fact, my forgetfulness seeps
and overflows my brain, not
with thoughts—but tenacious anxiety
and simultaneous boldness, so when
i think about marching to the security
guard in close proximity i am forced
to remember that i am
a woman—well, not a wo
sun-kissed skin &
sunken cheekbones
that accentuated her
melanin-blessed
features. she was a
wood nymph, that
one; a protruding
nose that resembled
the regality of a
birch sculpture,
terra-cotta flesh &
wisps of dense,
frizzy tresses;
centuries of history
etched on hair,
etched on skin,
& within the infinite
beauty she exuded.
you were always a dancer,
gracefully tracing pirouettes on
my origami skin, folding —
delicately, tenaciously.
once you tried to teach me
French, after all, you reasoned,
half the words you'd been
pressing in my veins had
territorial French roots;
arabesque, chainés,
I didn't understand half
the slipping letters from
your mouth, but they
sounded like honeysuckle
nothings so I listened
anyway.
the judges gave you a
superieur for the elegance
of your eloquent tango, but
neither they nor you told
me that dancers could
f r a c t u r e,
sinking dainty toes in
rose-thorn aftermath.
I wish I could have known
the ways
at eleven years old I remember
how felicitous it felt to have her
hands interlocked with mine. they
were warm, but thermodynamically
perfect against my arctic fingers;
when I kissed her later that day
I didn't know if it felt right but
it made me feel dizzy and
happy all the same. that kind
of happy when you see a
friend from years ago or once
you realize you're in love, a
soul-crushing tangible mess
of happy.
my best friend approached
me later that day, eyebrows
arched with hands on her
hips, and I remember that
she reminded me of an old,
rickety, lady asking her young
grandchildren where they had
been all this time, a warm
and com
re: a prelude amongst melismas. by Orphically, literature
Literature
re: a prelude amongst melismas.
mathematically, I'll live for seven
more decades, perhaps even more.
my soul's already fallen into three of
them and the other four perpetually
exist between intangibility and negligence.
my shirts never fit me and neither
does Heaven, circling around
the cosmos infinite times but
compressing into my body eleven
point five times, the rest's either
repeating or non-existent, I don't
care to tell.
I don't like lungs. I'd compare myself
to amphibians but they breathe
through their skin and it often feels
as if I can't breathe at all. lungs
are too restrictive, too waxy and
complex in simplistic ways. pharynxes,
larynxes, and tracheas ̵