paracelsus. d6. fin

lucius branwen / 10 — fox
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1,490 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 22, 2024 19:16:13 GMT -5

but a butt ?

paracelsus. d6. fin Aug 21, 2015 23:20:44 GMT -5

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Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Aug 21, 2015 23:20:44 GMT -5

paracelsus. seventeen. resurrection man. sold his soul for this. visiting graves & digging his own. he's got a coffin exactly his size. fun stuff. his 1st love was a kitten named Clementine. then she got killed

(( used to be angry. now he's just scared. almost died, but yenno. didn't. got out of one mess, only to fall into another. kinda being blackmailed now, but kinda not. thinking about running away 5ever but kinda can't. 'cause busy stealing bodies with his new buddies i guess. or something like that. odair.

Last Edit: Aug 27, 2015 14:08:44 GMT -5 by lucius branwen / 10 — fox

lucius branwen / 10 — fox
Graphics

1,490 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 22, 2024 19:16:13 GMT -5

but a butt ?

paracelsus. d6. fin Aug 26, 2015 12:43:44 GMT -5

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Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Aug 26, 2015 12:43:44 GMT -5

P A R A C E L S U S

how can the body die? you tell
me everything. anything true.

I died and died more times than I should've,
But I've been to a funeral just once.

The first time. And they said it was because I was the youngest. The easiest face to trust, to ignore. To be unquestioned by death.

Dressed in black. Curly hair brushed smooth. An expression of mourning over a stranger I'll kill twice. (To be discarded for the birds and beasts to dissect again {and again. Back to the earth.)
But I left when I approached the open casket.
I could see his face — bloodless and waxy, nearly alive if it wasn't for the absence of the rise-and-fall of breath. Each step closer,
with climaxing ghosts. The hymn of cries, hopeless lamentation, my false heartbreak — I staggered outside,
and ran.

It's always Ripley that goes to them now. A girl who's good with words and make-believe.
The four of us find each other at night like born thieves,
and I don't ask why they're here; I don't ask what he's promised them. We never speak about the dawn when we wear the darkness like printed masks and fluttering capes.

We never see light of day,
but we know our consequences.

He's got a coffin fit for me —
cradle built with premonitions of my death. Rockabye-baby in a cot of sin, fountainhead of cataclysm, shelter of suffocation. Laid to rest, go to s l e e p.

But he'll smoke me out from the afterlife: drawing wormholes in the dirt, making portals between my shoulders. He can get my heart to beat for seven more minutes — just hanging on to the tails of breathless seconds —
pumping pulses in reverse. Long enough so I could hand my limbs over, one by one,
debt unpaid in blood and bones.

(My body belongs to him in death;
my soul belongs to him in life.)

I wish I'd never met him. I wish he had let me bleed,
let the bullet bite holes in my organs and rot cupronickel worms inside their cells.
I wish I'd almost died at her hands. I wish I'd pulled the trigger slower, found the gun later, let her kill me faster. I would've lived without him saving me.

Or maybe
I was the one that fucked it up by playing chances with death.
Like a game of marbles — I held it in my fists and shot shafts of moth-eaten light into the darkness, unveiling my shaking hands to reasonable prey. So maybe I brought him to me,
with my honeyed wounds, saccharine hopes.
Maybe.

But this is one kind of freedom, I suppose.
Same wrists, traded chains. I've got rusted skin,
tarnished from the way she held me in limestone grips. From her blood and mine, mixing and pooling into papery red. From the care she took to leave unwashable stains on my body. I learned not to be angry with her. Not to swear. Not to scream. She was insurmountable with my inborn rage. She was made of hushed tones. Of hollowed caves. (She was nice until she wasn't.)

She used to play games with me that involved the end of a barrel, steel crowbars, and sharpened knives. Told me to choose between my body and my life, between death and inexhaustible pain, between myself and the things I had loved most.
— Sometimes, I wish I could've grabbed her hands in mine,
pressed them onto a pillow over my face. Choked me with a throatful of feathers. Smothered me right at the beginning. And I wish I could've taken her fingers,
to trace the curve of a sinister smile on my neck. To carve me a syrupy grin with a knife. To let my words run like a gurgling stream.

I wish she had killed me first.

She found me by a trail of mix-matched dreams, concave hungers, dirty knees.
I know I brought her to me — led her by cassonade-coloured bruises, rose-coloured fragility.
But why did she keep me?

why did she want me.
why didn't she just —

And she used to give me things to love:
stray dogs with tattered ears, flightless birds, cracked lockets, photographs of strangers, purring kittens, Clementine — things as lonely as I was inside of her kingdom of carcasses. With a roof of ribs. A room in an eye socket. A chest of cobwebs. A palace of decay. And I used to be strong; I used to sit up straight no matter how my bones splintered,
to hold back abyssopelagic tears no matter how my body faltered. Trembled. Threatened to topple. {Because fuck her. I was not born crying.

But when she made me choose}
I learned to b r e a k,
a hairline fracture
that became an abyss.
lowhumssunshinenapsgentlestretcheslickinglacerationsfeatheryjumpssoftwarmfuckingalive
and I had begged please no please, oh god no when she took Clem away from me months and months after I'd found her —
(please let me keep her, please just)
because I knew I was never brave enough to ask for the bullet, to end it all.
Instead, I'd watch her wreck everything
that might've been mine.

She gave me a handful of orange fur,
and I wept. (And I wish I hadn't loved her.)

I was very afraid of death.

Don't misunderstand.
There are a lot of things
that used to be before she shot me and I shot her,
swapping breath, finding ruins on my way to my grave. But this is not one of them.
And on some nights, I can't remember why I hadn't let her kill me first. On some nights, I look for the conviction that had raged inside my head when I held her revolver to my own chest. Certain of my mortality. Certain. But no matter how hard I look, it's lost now.

There's only fear.
And I don't want to die.

But I wish I had.
I wish he hadn't fixed me. I wish I hadn't woken up to a hospital room with bandages wrapped over irreparable injuries. I wish he hadn't unbroken my spine, and painted over my skin with a fresh coat of high hopes — for a new canvas to stain with his corroding rust. And I wish
I hadn't screamed no fuck you no no no when he told me what he wanted from my hands, and that I hadn't made it so easy for him to see that I was brittle behind hard words, that I was scared of pine boxes and stone gardens, that he already had me playing inside of his cages with spades and specters.
Half-dead.

He brought me back to life as anatomically correct sin,
resurrected on a tether of threats,
body rested in graves,
and I suppose this is one kind of way to live.
(I wish she had killed me first.)

My eyes,

used to be
clear and dry

and I used to have sugared prospects of freedom,
of a better life. I used to have a fire that burned into resolve, that made me strong and unswept. That kept me from the savagery of desperation. Of apathetic paralysis. Of fear. I used to be all these things before I was broken and fixed by a patient and a doctor looking for cures. Before I was disentombed from what should've been.

(But now,
I find myself biting at my own
wounds. Listless.)

Last Edit: Dec 17, 2015 2:49:49 GMT -5 by lucius branwen / 10 — fox

lucius branwen / 10 — fox Graphics 1,490 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Nov 22, 2024 19:16:13 GMT -5 but a butt ?	paracelsus. d6. fin Aug 27, 2015 14:09:27 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Aug 27, 2015 14:09:27 GMT -5 this is done hopefully, boo-yah x
	Last Edit: Aug 27, 2015 14:20:38 GMT -5 by lucius branwen / 10 — fox

Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] Administrator 9,638 POSTS Pronouns: She/Her last seen Nov 10, 2024 11:48:08 GMT -5 cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3	paracelsus. d6. fin Aug 30, 2015 15:56:59 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Aug 30, 2015 15:56:59 GMT -5 Beautiful. ACCEPTED!
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