“
Aries —
there was a war in your childhood home, and you can still remember the fires, how the blood was
pretty and sick on the bathroom’s pristine tiles, your mother’s still warm body limp in the tub.
breathe in through the mouth: in, out, in. you are not guilty. her life is not on your hands.
Taurus —
it is okay to love things more than you love people; practical, even.
people have left you, people will leave you – things, though, ah! things will not abandon you.
buy yourself something nice. it is the least bad out of all your choices.
Gemini —
you die every night and are reborn at dawn; you are a walking graveyard,
an army of yesterdays’ ghosts, and you no longer remember who you were at the beginning.
do not weep for the stranger that once inhabited your bones.
Cancer —
you are in love with the idea of love more than you are in love with your lovers;
that is why all your relationships are fleeting, why you are always falling apart.
all the same, smile when he proposes. pretend you do not know how this is going to end.
Leo —
oh, you poor, poor thing. all you have ever wanted was love’s sunlight, but all you ever got
were the thunderstorms, the clouds above your head heavy with sorrow, and so you chose
to drown out the rain between the thighs of a lover. do not regret it, for they were good nights.
Virgo —
you cradled your heart all your life with such care, and when the day came for you
to hand it to another, it shattered like glass in their grip. they did not mean to hurt you, you know.
they just wanted to hold on, afraid it will slip through their fingers like sand.
Libra —
you are the king of bad choices, from lovers to the fights you pick when you are far from sober;
you lost your sanity along the line between what is right and what is not, and you started hungering.
i fear the day your hunger will be quenched – only justice will sate you, and that calls for everyone’s dying.
Scorpio —
you are the one everyone fears: the monster in the closet, the witch at the stake – the devil, falling.
all of this is because they cannot understand you. they fear you like they fear death; instinctively.
do not mind them, for death is a kind god: the sweetest sleep, the darkness from which life is born.
Sagittarius —
some days, you think the sea is but a giant mirror, the vanity of coquettish stars and lazy clouds in passing.
some days, you think it is the fury of our earth mother, her tears and her sorrow saltwater in the breeze.
on all of them, you want to sail its’ lengths; you want to get lost out on the abyss, feel small beneath the sky.
Capricorn —
you learned early on the art of silent war – the war carried by words, sharper than any other blade.
at the same time, you have learned how little you mattered to the world, and so you cast yourself in armor.
i just wish you would learn to love yourself, if only a little. your own words have been cutting you all along.
Aquarius —
there is a sickness in you called longing: you’re wanton, thirsty, hungry, wanting – what, exactly,
well, that is part two, and none of us is really sure. you’re standing here, hands reaching for; come inside.
i will pour us both some wine, and we can pass the waiting time together. one day, you will know what you are lusting after.
Pisces —
all you have ever loved seems to be taken from you, until your house is left an empty, cold thing,
and your soul has been turned into a ruin. do not despair; get up from the floor, dust your clothes.
there are seeds on the upper shelves in the shed. it is a time as good as any to start keeping a garden.
(via medusasstory)
“
Aries —
tell me, how does it feel to live with your fists curled, always seeking something to fight?
how does it feel to be so rabid, so vicious, so hellbent on making a ruin out of yourself?
how does it feel to be the knife between your own ribs? darling, you are the war and the battlefield
and there is no victory or glory in bringing yourself to your knees. they have sung of your rage, see;
and none of them have known that most of it is aimed at yourself. it will always feel hollow,
somewhere, somehow, like you’re full of holes; it will always feel like you’re inadequate.
you must learn to live with it, one way or the other, before you fill the grave you’ve dug.
(you’re choking on the thoughts, half too cowardly and far too proud to end what you began;
but it’s so late, by god, too late – you’re halfway to hell, the flames licking the soles of your feet.
it’s fine, you think. you didn’t know what you wanted when you picked up the axe, anyway.)
Taurus —
breathing decay is surprisingly productive; flowers are still flowers, even if it’s just rot blooming on the walls.
it feels good to birth something for a change, when all you’ve ever done was turn everything to dust
as you brushed your hands over it, tracing the contours, memorizing the shape; a part of you hates it,
this gift for bringing disaster – but hey, we can’t all be the cure, can we? some have to be the poison,
and being a cancer comes in handy in a world that’s only constant in its’ tendency to go to hell and fall around you.
and it’s not that you need salvation; god knows you’re beyond it, anyway, and heroes are never fun
the way the villain is, but god, it gets so lonely, living in this castle of dust clouds, watching the world move on.
(and the truth is, sometimes you wish you were Midas instead; statues are better than wind, and although cold,
gold is something you can wrap your arms around, and in the right light the shadows it casts start to dance.
the truth is, you wish you could understand what makes them run away; is it the catastrophes, or are you lacking elsewhere?)
Gemini —
there’s ghosts in the attic and you can’t quite remember how to open the bone, can’t quite remember
how it feels to live with just one voice, one single throat screaming itself raw inside your mind,
making the blood sing, here, cold at the elbow, frozen in the wrists. no; you don’t remember the before,
don’t remember what it was like to take a stance without having to fight yourself over the name of your truth.
you’ve been praying for ages and the doors are still closed, the windows still shut; and the sun doesn’t shine,
not here, no, and god, good god, it’s so damn cold inside. you used to be a forest fire, you used to burn,
but now you’re all ashes and for the life of you you can’t remember how to put yourself back together.
(the sun will still be aflame when the world will go to hell; but before that, hell is here, in the now, in you, planted right
between the lungs, polluting with greedy mouths all that it can reach, staining you white, straining
the breath thin until there isn’t any left in you. hurry; put it out and clean the walls, or there’ll be nothing left, come spring.)
Cancer —
it’s a vicious cycle, not too different from tongues lapping hungry at the time on the face of a clock
or the way the ocean embraces the shore at high tide, whispering its’ love into the sand with the fervent ardor
only something without an omnivore’s instincts is capable of nurturing in its’ chest; it’s you on your knees
with flowers spilling out of your throat and wondering why does it always go wrong even if you know the answer:
it’s because love’s a dance and you can’t keep spinning forever, it’s because there is no equality in passion
and you are always the one who invests more, hands trembling, breaking, giving piece after piece
until you’re almost entirely hollow, because god, good god, it’s beautiful, so beautiful – the feeling, the moment.
(you’ve sold yourself so many times for the same ephemeral jewel; and that’s exactly why you want it, isn’t it?
love is such a beautiful thing, like peace and kissing heaven square on the mouth even if you know it can’t last,
because beautiful things never do – and does it matter, really, what dies first when we all meet in the grave?)
Leo —
it will always taste like grief, like iron on the tongue, like tears knotting under your chin; it will always feel
like being ripped open, like being split square down the middle and having your guts put on display – it will always feel
like a thousand deaths and rebirths undergone in the span of a second. you cannot escape contempt; you will always
tell yourself it was your fault, that you were left to rot because you were mismatched, somehow incomplete,
not whole, not good enough, god, never good enough; and it will always feel like gale coming from an open door,
licking the skin of your bare back, suckling the tears off of your jaw. it will always feel like kissing a corpse,
because that’s what saying goodbye to someone who walked away is all about, isn’t it? pain – and all of it yours.
(you will always tremble at the sight of someone you love; not from the flood of the feeling as much as from the
lingering fear that they too will one day leave you, and all you’ll have will be another open door, another
kiss not cold enough to soothe the way you hurt, the way your heart is screaming, the way it mourns itself.)
Virgo —
there is something terribly self-righteous about the way you loathe yourself; an almost sacred lining
to the vindictive hands that cut out the heart so that it may wither, if only so the hurt ceases, if only so the bleeding
dries at the source. you weren’t taught kindness; a butcher’s knife is the only mercy you’ve known,
and I can’t help but wonder why – it’d be fine if hate was the only thing to it, but there is indifference, too.
there is something clinical, impersonal, almost, to the way you tear into yourself. some set themselves on fire
for a good cause; others, just because they can. your arson is done from reflex, almost as if you believe
that by burning you can cleanse yourself of sin, that the fire can wash away the things gone wrong.
(but your eyes are tightly shut and you’ve covered the mirrors, so you can’t see the mistakes – you can’t see what this
compulsive sacrifice has made, can’t see the price you’ve paid for naught. you’ve turned yourself into a smoking ruin,
and SACRILEGE is spelled in blood across the burning. there is no greater sin than forsaking yourself; remember that.)
Libra —
and the irony is, your sin is also the greatest of your virtues; all your life you’ve clutched hands,
desperate and lonely, terrified of solitude and the silence that it brings. and so you ran:
you ran from stillness, ran from the clear night skies; ran as fast as your feet would take you,
ran and willingly got lost at the heart of the crowd, wrapping yourself in the false safety of the many.
but crowds disperse, you see; to hold them close you have to give them something, and all you had
was blood and bone and the kindness pumping in the heart within. and so you poured the sweetest wine: yourself,
and let them have their fill. alas, you cannot run forever, and it wasn’t long until the moon caught up with you.
(mirages fall together with the sun; lies turn to gold and fade, and all are bare beneath the weeping maiden.
stop trying to keep malice under lock and key; we’ve all got demons, a seed of darkness spilling shadow from the ribs.
you cannot outrun yourself. there is solace to be found in midnights; learn to love the way your ears echo, empty.)
Scorpio —
when is a monster not a monster? when it’s past four and you stare at the ceiling, hands reaching,
touching the soft flesh underneath your eyes and tracing the lines that despair engraved there, a wretched memento
from a nightmare whose lover you’ve unwillingly been for so long, by god, too long, and you’re alone with just your thoughts.
it’s all soft, then; like velvet, like the smooth skin of your thighs, like the sun bleeding itself into being;
soft, so soft, and tender, like all the things you don’t know and like all the secrets you want hidden
but don’t have the heart to crush and empty out between your teeth. yes – a monster ceases being a monster
when you look in the mirror and realize the eyes that stare back at you are so painfully human.
(I could learn to love them, you think; not could – I will. and you do, and all that was terrible is suddenly beautiful;
enamored with the beast, you have become alienated, but god, good god, you love yourself, even when you want
to set yourself on fire. it is a dangerous kind of love, but it is still the lesser among evils, so long as you do not betray yourself.)
Sagittarius —
iridescent; that is the word that defines you. like water springing from a fountain, catching the light
because it has no color of its’ own. you can try and paint yourself, but paint is paint and masks are masks,
and when the lights go down you aren’t too sure of what you are, except for something terrible.
you’re made from fear and dreams and a fierce sort of sickness, the one that makes you think your bones
were meant to be a crutch for someone else. you are not a ghost; stop treating yourself as if you were.
the road ahead is yours and yours alone, and, like it or not, you’ll walk it alone – and when you’ll reach
the ocean at the end of the lane, all that’ll be left of the illusions will be dust, a golden pile of nothing crowning your feet.
(armageddon is coming, see; and at the end of all things, there is no meaning in virtue, no love for martyrdom.
stop making yourself a bridge over peril for others to use when you can’t even tell where to begin
with saving yourself. there’s no honor in being a pillar, just radio silence and a bad weather forecast.)
Capricorn —
the hurt clings to you like a mother’s embrace; no matter how much cold water you let pour over the
slumped archway of your shoulders, it will never be enough to wash the past away –
you dug the graves too shallow when you tried to bury what you wanted forgotten, and so
it was only a matter of time ‘til it rose from the ground and came to haunt you. tell me;
when was the last time you got a good night’s sleep? when was the last time you snuffed the lights
without being afraid of the faces you’d see crowding in the shadows around your bed?
when was the last time the word “home” didn’t feel foreign on your tongue?
(how you wish you knew how to be happy. how you wish there had been someone to teach you, to show you the ropes;
but mother was a wisp in the wind, her presence a faint shape next to the towering shadow of your father – and oh,
how beautiful she was, and he what a monster. the only thing they had to teach was love with fists, blood in the mouth.)
Aquarius —
the warrior, marching through the trenches under a flag with a hole burnt through at the middle, his armor smeared
with blood, engraved with scars his chest was meant to bear, eyes weeping with smoke, bile at the back of his throat.
the mother, hands soothing, knotting themselves in the hair of her children, a smile on her lips and stories
on her tongue, her kindness a lullaby that you remember vividly when it’s your turn to pay tribute to Hades.
the child, breathing life into the monsters hid by darkness in every crevice, learning to make friends with the things
that can kill you: beasts, gods, great apes standing on the edge between them, learning the names of heartbreak.
the soul, despairing, an abyss that doesn’t know what to do with itself, where to put its’ mouth to stop the bleeding.
(you, a combination of them, standing on the white precipice of an ending that seems so very final; it’s all in tatters,
hope and reason both gone under, and the things you tried to bind have disentangled and god, they’re famished,
out for blood. calm doesn’t keep storms at bay; it just makes them that much more destructive. you should’ve known.)
Pisces —
dear god, how terrible this is; how great the horror, and greater still the beauty. it is people like you who reach
for heaven and try to drag god down by the feet, to bind him and drown him in the ocean below,
let him taste the sorrow, let him be baptized in salt among the rocks, screaming, because he’s all a wound
just the way we are. it is people like you who swallow the sun, who wear the moon on their crown of thorns
as the centerpiece jewel. it is people like you who have glimpsed the Other, people like you who have tasted
all that is holy, all that is cursed – people like you, breathing cataclysms that do not know how to
stop themselves from happening, how to tie the leash of fate lest they spill themselves empty on the pavement.
(you do not know the meaning of “no”. for you, interdictions are challenges, walls to jump over or burn down.
no one taught you how to bottle your soul, and, heavens mine, the catastrophe you’ve inside is enough to kill us all.
and yet you won’t let any wear you as sin, will you? no; you’ll take your own head, spare us of the sight.)
(via medusasstory)
“
Aries —
oh, my sweet, sweet child, what has the world done to you? you were a bright promise,
the tomorrow we had hoped for, holding flowers in your mouth without crushing them
and trusting blindly in those around you. and then came the blood; and now your fire
is a quiet thing, a crackling murmur hidden in the shadows. you’ve curled into yourself
like a newborn babe, held your heart tightly to your chest and began the tedious healing.
and all the salt in your tears made the deep wounds sting; was it this what kept you pure?
I wonder, oh, I wonder. before you, I had never seen an anathema so full of innocence.
(the world tried to cast you down from paradise; and it succeeded. but the fall couldn’t
maim you, for fire cannot kill fire – it simply shrunk you, much like a mimosa bloom.
I hope one day you’ll feel safe enough to flower, for there is so much beauty in you.)
Taurus —
I wish I could wrap my hands around your shoulders and hold you close for a while,
because oh, what sad things they are, your bones. I am so sorry, beloved; so very sorry.
and I am well aware these apologies cannot change anything, but I want you to know
that there is someone who sees you as you are – even when all the others see is your
superfluous frivolity and your desire for riches, I see the thoughtful mind, the gentle
gestures, each and every of your heartbeats. the song of you is imprinted into my memory
as the change in seasons is; you are unforgettable, something so precious and so very dear.
(don’t let them shame you for your greed – those who try to do so cannot wrap their
all too little minds around the fact that sin is not necessarily negative. your love for gold
has root in the same place as your love for others; you only want it so you may share it.)
Gemini —
it’s lonely, isn’t it? not being the way all others are. they tell you you’re a forgery, that your
smile is a mask and your composure an act, simply because they cannot accept the idea
that people are supposed to be multidimensional. on and on they go, pinning their ignorance
to you under the name of blame, seeing in you only that which they wish to see. sometimes,
you wish you were like them. I know you do. you shouldn’t. it might be lonely where you are,
but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing; lonely doesn’t mean secluded. there are others like you,
with minds like diamonds. others like you, who are only habitual in their tendency for change.
(you will find someone who can make sense out of you, one day, you know. they’ll know you
better than you yourself do – every single aspect of you, every single frantic facet and feeling.
and when you do, the wait will be more than worth it. I promise you won’t die nor live alone.)
Cancer —
you poor, poor, poor thing. it’s been a thousand years since you’ve curled into yourself, hid
your heart deep in the cradle of your ribs and let yourself sleep; then the time came for you
to awaken, and you found the world unchanged – it was as if everything had stood still.
reality swept into you like saltwater into gaping wounds, and every fiber of your soul wept.
fearful, you took the broken glass road still, walked it fully aware of what laid in waiting;
like a bride the night she is wed to a stranger, you swallowed your terror and saw it through.
often, those ignorant make you out to be such a bumbling coward. you’re not. you just aren’t.
(in fact, you’re on of the bravest people I know; it takes so much courage to let the world
see you weep – and it takes even more of it to wipe your tears and keep moving forward.
above all, it takes immense courage to allow yourself to love even when you know it’ll hurt.)
Leo —
the size of your heart puts to shame both Jupiter and your own pride and ego; to this day,
I am not sure if you would have been better off with one much smaller, but I know for sure
the world would have been emptier by far. you see, your touch is one of gold; whomever
you decide to invest your time and love into grows the size of Atlas, and so, without you
as you are now there would have been much less in the world. that is your downfall, isn’t it?
always has been. the way you’ve always put others first, giving them all of you, never asking
for anything to be given to you in return. you are a gardener, dearest, and people are your roses.
(it breaks my heart that all your selfless effort was almost always repaid in hurt and sorrow;
know that you are not to be blamed for any of it. you have done nothing wrong – sometimes,
things simply fall apart. don’t shut your heart. I’d hate to see your love rot and turn to hatred.)
Virgo —
you have endured well the contempt of others, my dear; you have taken every blow with open arms.
they have called you frigid and prude and arrogant and everything in between, but you knew better.
tell me then: if you can endure so well the slander of others, if you don’t care what they make of you,
why do you worry so? why do you see only blemishes when you look at yourself in the mirror?
your hesitance to trust others stems in your fear that if you let them in they’ll see your ugliness, all
the imagined imperfections you see in your reflection. you can’t trust others because you don’t trust
yourself; and I wish so badly that you would have a little more faith in who you are, in your beauty.
(being unable to forgive, jealousy and lust do not make you terrible. hate is human nature as much
as love is; emotions, be they bad or good, are intrinsic to mankind. you are such a passionate being,
despite your outward delicacy, and that, my dear, is simply stunning. please try to love yourself.)
Libra —
darling child, didn’t the gods tell you the mob sees dancers as something of the devil, especially
when their preferred stage is the sharp edge of a sword? few in this world love truth, and fewer still
are fond of things like righteousness and justice. your ability to remain indiscriminate in the face
of contradictory realities and deny none of them is both a blessing and a curse. your mind, I fear,
is the Pandora fate has crafted specifically for you; a beautiful gift that hides such doom and sorrow.
and you are aware of all of this – how you were meant for greater things, with your noble mind
and your true heart, yet on you dance, fighting against the windmills of adversity. how brave you are.
(know that your effort will not go without reward. know that you won’t be forever unloved, nor
will you be forever misunderstood. there will be those whom, like you, have the makings of just men,
and they will understand. keep your eyes open and search the crowd; that is what you do best.)
Scorpio —
I look at you and my heart grows small; there is so much sadness in you, from the flower
of your eyes to the slouching arch of your shoulders. you have been misjudged
and falsely accused for so long: whore, they said; monster, perverter, sickness of the soul –
and all of it because you like sex, as if somehow they are the virgin mary reborn,
the goddamn hypocrites. this, too, is something they have misunderstood; it is not sex
that you crave or are interested in. it is intimacy: it is the vulnerability that comes with having
your soul completely bared and lain before another; you crave love, in its’ purest of forms.
(and I know they have convinced you that someone of your kind is not “worthy”; fuck that.
your love is priceless, and one day someone will call your battle scars a masterpiece.
one day someone will love you as wholly as you deserve to be loved. they will love all of you.)
Sagittarius —
there is such wanderlust in you – you’ve made a home out of the long, long roads,
walked the earth to its’ ends and bathed in the oceans of the horizon; the sky was
your sole companion, its’ stars your map, the wind a spellsong to ward off the passing
sadness and melancholia that threatened to dim the flame of your heart. oh, my child;
how very wonderful you are, a barefoot nomad forever in awe of the world. the feeble
minded call you rootless; how wrong they are. having a voyager heart does not make you
afraid of commitment. it simply means your roots lie elsewhere, splat across the world.
(do not let their malice plant doubts into your mind’s garden; your gypsy heart is worth more
than all their empty ones combined. keep daring the world, sate your thirst for journeying;
only exploration can ever lead to discovery, so let your feet and head both walk the world.)
Capricorn —
good god, you’re so tired. life has worn you down to the marrow of your bones,
took everything from you until you were bare-handed; and yet.
and yet you’re still here, standing before me, your spine hardened to titanium,
a delicate thing that can withstand even the most apocalyptic of sieges;
you still find it in you to smile, bitter-bloody-all-teeth and still happy, somehow.
know that I am proud of you; of your bravery, of your resilience,
of how you’ve clung to life by the skin of your teeth. I am proud of you.
(and know that you deserve happiness – you may feel like you don’t, you may feel
that it is above the likes of you, but you deserve it; you have earned it.
know that one of these days, the sun will shine down on your lane, too.)
Aquarius —
there’s so much of you inside your skin I am often surprised it has yet to come apart at the seams;
there’s so much of everything inside your skull I am left in awe of your bones – often I wonder,
how are they strong enough to contain the exploding universe inside? my god, this world of ours
has seven wonders and you are all of them. the fortitude of your bright mind ceaselessly
surprises me; I know what to expect, and yet I am still thrown off by your ingenuity and your
ability to remain rational in your abstract ways. nobody but you is open enough to accept it all;
nobody but you can see through the prism of all eyes and walk away with their sanity intact.
(I know they call you “cold”, an ice queen of the Siberian tundra. let them be. those who cannot
see your white-hot warmth are not worthy of your brilliance. you are the brightest star, my dear,
someone accepting and embracing of it all. do not settle for anyone that is blind to your light.)
Pisces —
and how terrible it must be for you, who lives always halfway, to be stuck in a world
that demands certainties which you will never have to give. it is not to say you don’t want
to be resolute – you simply cannot. your world does not have truth, nor does it have falsity;
all that your world has are colors, swirling, forever mingling anew like the clouds in the sky.
one day you are overflowing with everything that blooms inside of you, and lilies
are spilling out of your ribs; the next, you’re empty, and you can’t for the life of you
find something that is all-encompassing enough to fill the growing abyss south of your sternum.
(know that it is okay. the most humane thing you can be is full of contradictions;
as maddening as it can be, each paradox gets you closer to the entity your peers call god.
it was never the devil that built his home on the crossroads, you know. embrace your nature.)
(via medusasstory)
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(via lismock)