Guinevere, tell me, do you still bite your reflection in the evenings? or do you bathe in blissful ignorance, doomed to experience ignominy at its treacherous hands? do you know of the swords that unsheath for you, the power of a single tipped stone, of the battles that rage on despite the knowledge that hope buried herself? struck in your own husband’s court; drowned in his mirror; dearest, tell me you recognize your faulty way!
i, who summons stretchers to shelter her enemies, waves her aura over them till they recover– my Lady, i serve as a nun but my mind still drips memories of our sins together. sweet decadence had never been so tasteful; here, come remind me of our misdeeds. our love is a forgotten scabbard; some traces of my lost benevolence float around in their tethered shreds but you deem them no notice.
you haven’t yet lived. you teeter between responsibility and past ideals of affection, twisting ‘round yourself till the magic that revered you, the magic that lit up for you is kicked aside. don’t forget yourself– although pretty daisy flowers shower upon you often, you are made of steel and sinew, your stretched chords polished enough to sever metal.
one day, you will return to me. till then, i will tick off the numbered days on my skin, drift between bitter apple trees and swallow chunks the earth has spit out. i will make belied impressions for the sake of appearances, but remain still in belief. tell me you hear the echoes as i carve my throat; hurtle, spiral outward– yes, i will wait an eternity, but you know we haven’t got that long. come.
Dhwanee Goyal is a fifteen-year-old student from Maharashtra, India. Pretty buildings make her heart beat fast, and she adores puns, double-sided blankets, sentences that trail off and…