house of open yearnings

It creeps up on you, this soft decay. On Tuesdays the words get caught in the dream catchers. My bedroom a litany of strange music and moans. A woman crooning from the Victrola and voices carrying through the wallpaper. Despite everything, there is always ache. All hanging lights and star charts. My mother's face haloed and strange as she reaches to turn out the lamp. We huddle under blankets while the ice thaws in my father's whiskey. Vats of face cream like canopic jars and limbs of broken mannequins bending towards the light. All the brass keys lost in my body's curves and folds, the vacuum bags choked with ash. How lovely I sat in the longing while crosses dangled from my ears and the blinds choked out all the light. I'll remember the moans and Marlboros at your lips, Sister's endless collecting, the wooden trays dripping with candle wax and porcelain birds. The terrible terrible pink hearts of their mouths.
Written by toniscales (Lost Girl)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2 reading list entries 1
comments 2 reads 84
Commenting Preference: 
The author is looking for friendly feedback.

Latest Forum Discussions
Yesterday 11:44pm by LunaGreyhawk
Yesterday 11:20pm by monovox128
Yesterday 10:35pm by mcjay
Yesterday 10:23pm by mcjay
Yesterday 10:16pm by mcjay
Yesterday 9:32pm by monovox128
") ")}