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FOR THE 21 ST OF MARCH. ARIES: Sometimes the sun shines too bright… - freewrites, dreams, memories... [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
freewrites, dreams, memories...

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[Mar. 21st, 2015|09:11 pm]
freewrites, dreams, memories...

freewriters

[connectedmorons]

FOR THE 21ST OF MARCH.

ARIES: Sometimes the sun shines too bright and there are tears tucked away in the corner of your eyes. You blink them away, and you bare your teeth at the world again – bloody-smiled and mad-eyed.

TAURUS: When will those you love start loving themselves? When will they press their little broken selves together again? Your neck aches, and the cavity in your back tooth throbs. The days roll past in slow golden molasses of heat and time, and you wither a little in the unrelenting summer.

GEMINI: The voices in your head yowl like the shriek of the train hurtling down the tunnel. But eh! It’s okay – your hair is on point and your collar is buttoned flush-tight against the bob of your throat.

CANCER: Your mind is a Ferris wheel, hung with rainbow lights that judder in time to the beat in your blood and turning slowly, slowly, slowly in the lonely wind of your thoughts. Your hands are scarred with the violence of your past, scarred with the disappointments of old wrongs and come! Bring your knife down again, because time moves in revolutions.

LEO: Toss a ball into the sky, and watch it hang there in the blue for one perfect moment – and when it comes hurtling down to earth again, dance out of the way in your beaten-up sneakers and set the video you took of it to sad post-rock music.

VIRGO: You really should wash the clothes that pile in great piles in your house. Sometimes you play hide-and-seek among the drifts with yourself. What makes you scared is that someday, someone will touch the back of your shoulder.

LIBRA: A perfect sight in black and gold, lips darkened in bruised red from the alcohol that swirls in the glass that is clutched too tight in your worn hands. You tell people, “My heart is black, black as my dress.” Someday, you will find someone who will pry your ribcage open to verify that claim.

SCORPIO: Your mother sits in the corner of your room, and she is knitting a long maroon scarf that has your name written in hot curling pink letters. Your father sits downstairs, and he sips tea and whiskey from a chipped mug. Some days, you try to escape.

SAGITTARIUS: The cold of the desert bites into your bones, and your lips are long chapped into blood. The skies open up in a brilliant sprawl overhead, the stars mapping out an unbreakable code that leads the way home.

CAPRICORN: Winter sees you buying sweaters, large sweaters that held you like your father never held you.

AQUARIUS: When will you swim again? The ocean looms deep and blue, and the waves hurl themselves against the jagged grey teeth-rocks that cluster under the cliff you’ve so often drove up to lately. You’ll swim again someday, you think, when the old man that lives in the cottage on the beach dies. You’ll swim, and you will be beautiful, falling into the most perfect arc through bleak air.

PISCES: Didn’t you know I loved you?

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