Why Is It Light Is Thought Of As Good And Dark As Evil? As If The Shadows Sewn To Our Heels Want Anything

Fairies are a gentle sort, no bigger than pointer fingers. A little fire sprite burned the tip of mine once. She wasn’t sorry about it neither, she just snickered and gave me a thimble to wear over its ugly little boil. I sort of admired that unapologetic way she had about her. Her nature wasn’t wrong after all, she didn’t burn me out of hatred or malice. She burned because she was fire.

I don’t want to die knowing sadness last. I want to die in a happy moment. I want to die on the beach when I’m 8 years old, and I’m boogie boarding right for the first time. There’s salt water in my teeth and the sun is shining. I want to die suddenly. My head hitting the bottom of the sea floor hard and fast. I want to die a happy child.

Unable to find love on land, and told she was unappetizing by her siren of the sea, the sailor girl sought out a lake to mope around in. In the water she so loved and away from the aching salty tide at her ankles, she found respite. But another dwelled in the muck of the lake’s bottom, and rose to meet her. A fresh water siren. Friendly as spit, with water’s wake that tasted of sugar and blood, she invited the sailor girl in. Her hair was red and curled, like a devil’s smile. White freckles sat on her face frankly, like table salt.

She reached out to the girl, and began to braid her long blonde hair, dragging her deeper into the water as she did, with a smile full of teeth.

Melodic, melismatic is she. Her song is her figure dancing in air, steam rising ever out of reach.

She tastes of blood and salt, the siren I kiss on the rocks. I do not know whose blood I taste, but I do not care.

-Diary of a Siren

The touch of your coat as you trot on by.

The green of your eyes as you gaze at the sky.

The scratch of your claws as you knock on my door.

I miss that sound dearly

for I do not hear it anymore.

Taken by salt water taffy, bring me to the childhood I never had

It’s easier for the caterpillar to die than to grow wings. You cannot choose ease when splendor demands difficulty.

Hands wrapped around my neck squeeze tighter. I wonder if this is how I will die. My eyes bulge but I see nothing but black splotches and bright stars. Night has followed me into day, just as I dreaded it would. Just as I dreaded it would.