painted-words

The sky’s gone gray again. Not long until the ground crusts over too. Pure white for too-quick a moment and then just the brown of tired hands grabbing at your clothes. You’ll be the only one left. The neighbors all ran for the cities that run on huge fires. They ran away to be fuel. No one bothered even to board the windows against the violence the winds do. They won’t come back. The houses, still the apple reds and yellow of fall, will fade in the mean months with no one to look after them. Pigment chips away and blows like dandelion spores on the air. Two years, tops, before the dead weight of piled snow collapses the roofs. Snowflakes, like shaved ice, whistle through rooms where you left curtains hung and beds made when you ran for another world. Not long now before the hole you carved in thick ice to sting the washing clean is the only friend left. The only one you can talk to. It asks only one question, again and again, in low whisper. What goes in here, in the scar you carved with augur and chisel and old shoulder, when the last bed sheet slips from your fingers?

[Painting: Washing on the Ice by Pekka Holonen, 1900]
Worshipped Lips

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2dwD2kp

by Jinko

The first time Alec had a pair of lips wrapped around his cock, they were painted gold.

Words: 9360, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Worshipped Series



read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2dwD2kp

Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.