The Curse of Being

I love you, but I must kill you.

Your drunken delirium of colour will fade.
My gossamer touch, butterfly kisses,
fingerprints on your skin are your death:

Your life, for your art.

We are told, from our birth, that you, your kind, are prey.
Keep your distance, guard your heart; do you want it to break
every single time? Take them as liars, sweet ones, pretend
You do not see the ardour in their eyes, hearts razing to the ground
for you.
If you fall, you fall spiralling, and you will never hunt,
Never live again—
You will hate what you are.

Don't bend to them, to what they call love:
Be strong as steel,
Hard as rock.

But you, your soul singing through your script, move me;
lose me in our brief but fiery ceili.
Pure metal gives, igneous rock melts:
I, at the end, must face the fading of your haunting,
brilliant eyes,
Watch you wither like the cereus:
here tonight, and dead by dawn.

My greatest failure is love.

I looked back, I let my heart be swayed, moulded,
marked by your hand:
Never hunt, never live again

And once before so proudly fay
How gladly now would I burn my wings
set myself among mortal things
to love you yet another day.

{Claire}

I dream of freedom

Consciousness.

"Am I dead yet"

The air around me seems to pause.

"I wish you'll stop saying that"

"I gotta prep for it Mom. It's a life changing event." With some difficulty I turn my head. Mom's lips are pressed into a thin line, her brows deeply furrowed. "Don't joke about things like that."

I close my eyes with a huff, feeling infinitely more tired than I was before I woke.



I honestly don't mind it so much. Death.
Because the alternative, clinging onto this deadweight, useless lump of a body is beyond bearable. I barely have any control over it left. These days, it's just a continuous shuttle between hospitals to salvage the remaining pieces. It's depressing and exhausting and everything hurts. At the very least, death must be an escape from all of this. This immobility and heaviness and waiting to die.
I want to die. I can't wait for it. I feel like I'm hanging on the edge of a precipice, a steep drop to a thousand feet below. But I'm not scared. Some people are afraid to fall. I can't wait to fly.

Everything feels heavy, I feel so heavy. Lying here on this bed all day everyday. I can't wait, to be light and free again, to move my limbs with an ease that does not warrant conscious thought. I used to dance. Now, even the thought of crawling is a mere illusion. With every breath I suffocate, heavy hands pressing on me, holding me down. Creeping tendrils tying me to this Earth, this body. I want to fly but I can't. Not anymore.

When I sleep, I dream of technicolour. I dream of an unimaginable freedom and being able to breathe once more. In my dreams I am light, lighter than stardust. I drift and I fly and I soar higher than any cloud. It is thrilling and tingly, and I've never felt so alive. In those moments, I am free.

-WenZhen