So much time has passed and I know you’re someone different now. But I meant it when I said “I’d love you forever.” I loved you then and I’d love you now.

— I wish you’d let me show you how things could be this time. (so much has changed but how much I love you has stayed the same)

Awakening, eyes

wide shut against the light

how many tries

how many failings

before I get it right

What am I doing here,

what the hell am I doing here

Don’t have the faintest clue

about anything in this world

is there anything that’s true

Been a thief, been a murderer too

all my life, been a liar

even lied to you

Through all this destruction

all my hate and hurt and spleen

Always believed, hoped maybe

just maybe

you’d be the one to wash

wash me clean

Staying Over

Allow me
This day to exist
Without fear
Of death
Drawing near

For the time
Which keeps me
Our life
Is a borrowed dream

When I wake
To caress your cheeks
These sheets
So tender

Every shadow
Of that morning
Is me

Lines which curve
Your dimples

Fingers gently
Near the mouth
You keep
At rest

To pretend
We just won’t know
That love
Is always

From the heat
Our bodies
Like a furnace
Burning chance  

Of the thread
Which ties
Our hearts
Bonding flesh
That’s waited

Each breath sacred
As the one
Which could be

While never
Knowing fate
If the feeling
Too frequent

Where nerves
And passing answers
Give us solace
Through their

We have danced
And perhaps
Have even
Said this

How words
Lose reservations
On nights
We choose
To share.

- J. Pigno

Rhetorical: Part II

You’re awful, but I love you dearly. Part II to this tiny thing and based off this prompt list. Happy reading! x

It was more of  a rhetorical question than anything, but part of Max was wondering if there was any way he could be misinterpreting the situation – that the whiskey and lemon in his glass was clouding his judgment and that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she’d been rubbing on him like a cat all evening.

“Are you flirting with me?”

Just saying it out loud felt like answer enough. No, she wasn’t, because that was absurd. She was his friend. They’d been friends for eight years, there was no way….

His mouth when dry when a grin slower than honey dripping down combs pulled across Cass’ face, and he tensed when she drew her fingertips up his sternum over his plain, white t-shirt before looping her pinkie finger with the chain hanging around his neck.

“Guess I am,” she said, running her finger the length of the chain until it reached the key dangling from the end, and she curled her finger, pulling gently. “Is that okay?”

Was that okay? He laughed – more of a quiet sputter – because he wasn’t sure if he was really allowed to say what his first response was, but by the way she took her lower lip between her teeth, he could guess she probably knew, and she confirmed his suspicion by pulling him forward with the chain around his neck.

Eight years of friendship, and Max had never thought about what her mouth would taste like, but each tentative kiss grew into bolder ones that smacked of the remnants of rum on her pillowy lips.

Fuck whiskey, he’d like to drink her for the rest of the night, and he clasped her cheeks between his hands more firmly than he’d ever held any glass in his life to hold her still. Her soft, breathy, pants were music to his ears, and he provided the bass line in a groan when she dragged her hand down his chest. She pushed him, though, in the soft part between his chest and stomach, and he broke, dizzy and disappointed.


Smiling, Cass slid her fingers under the chain, and in one swift movement, she lifted it over his head.

“That’s mine,” he said without malice when she wrapped it around her knuckles, mirth shining in her eyes.

“Mine now,” she said, the key sliding back.

“Is it?” he asked, arching a brow. “You going to pay my rent, too?”

Delicately and somewhat clumsily, she untangled the thin metal links before dropping it down over her head and flipping her hair out. It fell lower than it did on his neck, and he stared at the point of the key dangling between her breasts, just above the silky, light pink material of her top.

“If you want it–” Max looked up, heat crawling over his neck with the shame of being caught– “you have to come and get it.”

For the first time, he could see doubt in her eyes, and for the first time, he knew it rested on his shoulders. If he wanted it, he could get it, and if he didn’t, she’d walk away.

Holding her gaze, he brushed his fingertips first over the expanse of her chest and then down lower to hook into the chain, lips twitching when she gasped as he fished the key out. Pinched between his fingers, he pulled it lightly, and her eyes fluttered shut with a soft moan when he stepped in. Still holding the key, he touched his knuckles to Cass’ chin and leaned in, lips barely touching hers.

“I want it.”

Can you hear the

crackling that

pulses through

my system?

It’s a

fire that not even

the winter of

my heartbeat can


New Moon

the dark weighs more

where light once shone

the shadows deep

inside your bones

even my words hollow out

the last breath of smoke rising

from a guttered candle flame

the window sash shut tight

around my mouth

I remember where the moon

held my face so close

kissed dreams into my tousled hair

sheets twisted into bonds

the sky an infinite prison of black spilling

into black bars

you can’t tell falling

from floating

when your body is the night sea

reflecting a map of stars

the path home

mirrors the path away

and every constellation pulls

a crashing wave

inside your lungs

I fell in love with a woman with a shattered eye. My fingers wrapped in her dark brown curls, I looked at her shattered eye without flinching. Her pupil moved under the spiderweb of smashed glass. Dark brown pupil, barely visible under the white, except when it reached the hole in the middle of her eye.

She allowed me to stare at her. She told me I was the only one who could stare at her and make it not look like I was regarding a freak. She believed in me, but I wasn’t so sure about myself. Her cheek was lean, flat, it lacked tenderness. She smiled under my hand.

“I look like a devil,” she said. Her mouth opened to ask “Don’t I?”, but the words never appeared. She swallowed them back down.

“You don’t,” I said, using my thumb to wipe tears that weren’t there.

“That’s a shame,” she smiled more naturally now, the way we smile when we’re babies, before we know what smiling is. “I am a devil, you know. A devil craftsman.”

“No devil makes things as beautiful as you do,” I said.

She turned to the other side of the bed, throwing the blanket off her body. The little ivory locket was on the bedside table. She held it up between us. It was an old piece, from when she was an apprentice, a teenager with an unshattered eye. The locket was carved with a rough design. An elephant, surrounded by vines and flowers.

“You should put it on,” I said, looking past the locket, at her heaving chest, where I imagined the locket resting.

“It’s not for me,” she said, and put it around my neck. “It’s for you.”

I touched the locket with my fingers, but my eyes stayed mired in hers. Her smile was fading, turning into a serious face, even more serious than when she’s at work, carving away at ivory.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I have two stories,” she said. “One is for the children who ask me about it.”

I knew that story. It’s the one she told everyone: that she was cutting ivory when a piece smashed her eye. She never did tell anyone why her eye was made of glass in the first place.

“And the other?” I asked.

“The other story isn’t told with words,” she said, and took her hand off of my cheek. Without taking her eyes off of mine, she stuck her little finger into the hole in her eye. She dug in deeper, and a low wail manifested into a scream. I touched her hand, but she pushed me away, refused to take the finger out of her glass eye.

The eye popped out, finger still inside. Her eyelid closed behind it, and she let the shattered glass eye fall on the bedsheets between us. Even though I had the pattern of the shattering memorised, it looked weird outside of her eye socket.

After a while, she opened her eyelid. There was an eye inside, dark brown pupils on a clean white eyeball. She smiled again.

This is the 1,000th post on Sulfurous Dreamscapes! Do check out the celebratory post here!

When The Style’s A Gimmick

When the meaning’s diluted

When the sounds are snazzy


When it’s about love

Only about love

Especially young college love

Dressed up in handmedown clothing





When it’s glorifying seasons

Or cigarettes

Or heartbreak

Or the ocean

Or underlying psychological issues


When it goes,

‘Blah blah blah

Something something

Who cares

May the night stars guide your heart’s light

P.s. I love you’


When it’s nothing but dead air shooting through the radio waves

Unbridled - Alder, Maryland - Risqué

In a perfect world, she would have taken the week off as well. Not that he expected her to. She had explained it simply enough that morning that she was the only employee. Being both owner and operator meant that if she took a day off, she lost out on money. So, he sat quietly out of the way and watched her until she closed up for lunch and began straightening up.

“Do you like it? Running your own business that is.”

“Not a single bit,” She responded.

“Why is that?”

“Well, don’t get me wrong. There are perks to being your own boss. You of all people should understand that, but I don’t enjoy dressing the well-to-do. I think there are better things, more substantial things I could be doing with my time. Honestly, I miss working at the Kari Foundation. Zen was completely a pain in my ass, but I liked feeling useful.” Absently she added, “Part of me misses him.”

Hiko did as well, though he would never admit it. They had chosen to make Alder their home that meant pushing aside Aslann. They couldn’t have both, it wasn’t an option.

Lightly she continued, “The CIA made me go through the hoops. I had to come up with a business proposal, get a loan, just to make it look authentic. They wanted to really sell it to Jared that I was no longer working for them. It was meant to appeal to him, though he’s a farm boy through and through and the type of girl that would get his attention doesn’t exist within me. Not a single bit.”

“So, they made a mistake?”

“In the way they did things, yes. Though, I was still probably the best person to handle Jared due to our joint history. Still, I think they could have gotten a lot further had they approached you. Which, makes me rather curious why they didn’t.” Tationy shrugged her shoulders and faced him, “Do you miss the Kari Foundation?”

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Mythology Theory: Lycans and Alchemy

Okay so we all know the basics of European lycanthropy/werewolves.

Turn into wolves at the full moon and the only thing that can kill them is a silver bullet or just silver in general.

But if you take a look into alchemy you’ll find that silver is a Purifying metal

On top of that the celestial body associated with silver is the Moon of all things.

So why is it that the full moon causes werewolves to turn despite being associated with their weakness?

My theory on it is that the wolf form is a lycan’s real true form as opposed to masquerading as a human… or trying to at least.

Let me know what you guys think because I would love to hear other takes on this idea from other mythos and religions!

Escaping through a quest.

The pleasure of finding a shortcut

Yet to remain ignorant

For the allowance of fear & convenience

To no longer be addicted to emptiness:

Is to find balance

That fills the void of illusion

Who can be aware with oneself

In a place when dependency is

The only cure to such an illness?

Self evaluation to always look

For a solution instead of

Trapping oneself with the problems