By: Elyssa Tappero
my metaphors are ground up and mixed with bone meal and salt, a dash of graveyard dirt and a pinch of mausoleum dust, then left out overnight to bathe in the light of the absent moon, sit and think about what you’ve done, and in the morning i take whatever the fairies and scavengers left behind, wet it with water from the well, and smear a line over my forehead to mark me as the beast’s, you know they said he’d come for me at the end and yet here i am, all dressed up with nowhere to go, late to my own party, and i’m pretty sure the end is extremely fucking nigh so exactly how much longer do i have to wait, c’mon man
Elyssa Tappero is a queer pagan who writes fragments of prose and poetry about mental illness, the gods, the agony of writing, and how it feels to be alive for the end of the world (which is pretty not great) in hopes of touching others who might feel the same. You can find more of her work at www.onlyfragments.com and follow her on Twitter at @OnlyFragments.
Comments