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Dryad on the Wind

Catch me on the stardust highway, I'll be wearing a crown of pine needles and coffee beans.

Untitled and Unfinished Truth

If I’m being honest, love

I’m a little wanting of

The thrill of forbidden flesh against my own, the taste of running far from home

This wild part of me won’t ever die and I won’t ask her to

Pretty sinner, dizzy spinning in a dirty apartment ; I taste like vodka and cheap riesling, frozen cherries and pieces of a person

Begging for blood and bruises, laughing at your pain and my own

(Most nights like this I just stay home, alone)

Saturday Night Playlist – No Links

Roxanne – The Police

Don’t Stand So Close To Me – The Police

Big Love – Fleetwood Mac

Arsonist’s Lullabye – Hozier

Angel Of Small Death and the Codeine Queen – Hozier

Take Me To Church – Hozier

Leave My Body – Florence + The Machine

Guys My Age – Hey Violet

WANT (Deluxe) (album) – 3OH!3

Before Last Breath

I wrote this maybe an hour before my absolute favorite, beloved resident passed. I’ve not yet been able to write about the passing or aftermath, but I sort of like this. 

Goodbye, old friend. Rest In Peace and wholeness, with cigarettes instead of straws and a sweetheart beside you on the front porch. 

I played psychopomp to the pale man
Of shallow breath and gaunt structure
Once a sweetheart of strange kind
Made to haunt this sad enclosure
I called out all the names I knew!
Azrael and Thanatos, Jesus Christ and Holy Ghost
Hecate, brightly guide his way
And may the River Styx be smooth
Kind Persephone offer the ripest of fruit, pomegranates bittersweet
Guide swiftly the spirit, cut cleanly the thread
I shall see you yet, old friend

Sunday Love Review

I don’t have a real outline for this post. My glasses are off, bubble mask working away on my face, Spotify doing its marvelous music thing. To be completely honest, I’m thinking as I’m typing. Upon titling this post the plan was to discuss (with myself and you all) my love…but as I type I find the content broadening itself.

Please forgive any typos…though this will be triple checked, I am currently with vodka and without my corrective lenses.

Back on track; my love. One of the many names I’ve given my beloved partner. As I write I can’t help but to expand the term into something entirely different…no longer a title, but  a a proper noun complete with its own adjectives and such. How do I love? Who do I love? When does my love show and what spurs it? Are love and loyalty synonymous or merely intertwined?

Addressed simplistically the normal come to mind. I love my family, my close friends, my cat, my boyfriend. A second tier appears; I love my Craft, I love the angels I work with and deities I worship. I love, wholeheartedly and with  a compassion I never anticipated, my residents.

None of those are exhibited the same way except for one characteristic – service.

I’ve come to believe, at least for myself, that service is the greatest and most voluntary act of love there is. It surpasses category or function…I am equally likely to serve my mother, my boyfriend, and my residents. They won’t need the same thing! I will provide affection, attention, validation, and sustenance in turn. The most effective (and most tailored) act of love you can perform is one specific to the person requiring your heart and energy…how do you give it?

I provide joy. I provide a temporary escape. I am Erynn the Enabler, when I am not not Erynn the Witch/Sister/Friend/Combo.

I offer you solace, comfort, validation, encouragement, and judgement-free safety. My space doesn’t mind your vice(s) because I’ve got several of my own.

The greatest gift I have to give is love. It is the service of love in an unpolished packaged; I am judgement-free and therefore you have not sinned and are worthy of love and salvation. Sometimes one must be clean and worthy to a friend before they are worthy to themselves before the Creator.

Playlist – Wednesday Night/ Early Thursday

  • Landslide – Fleetwood Mac
  • Everywhere – Fleetwood Mac
  • Rhiannon – Fleetwood Mac
  • The Chain – Fleetwood Mac
  • Little Lies – Fleetwood Mac
  • Big Love – Fleetwood Mac

Short, sweet, perfect for a little drive with the windows down!

Light End of A Poet’s Love

My love notes are scribbled in pen or permanent marker
Scattered in slanted script on scraps of paper
Scratched into small sticks or
Written on the soft skin of my palm
Earnest and sincere, poetic and strange
I find it quite unfitting to ever sign my name
The five characters don’t add up to my complete soul or the pieces I offer from it
Nor do they give hint of the sorrows you give me solace from
Sweet respite! Won’t you slip over me like a silken sigh, like the peace of resting eyes
Like the sleep one only reaches being rocked by the waves
The serpentine curve of the shore has changed since the time of Lenore
Yes, it beckons sweetly – the sirens, like Echo repeating – that you will love me evermore

Cerebra – 115

There’s a handprint on the wall of
The nursing home hall
And I know that they don’t want to be here any more than I
Dirty charcoal stain
From where he propped himself up
I’m convinced we find our way to souls that understand us
I almost get my fill of darkness here
And they know someone loves them here
Even if the love is tough, no matter if their end is near
I’m stuck somewhere between acceptable and crazy
Not well enough financed to be eccentric instead of lazy
The madness here is one that I can just grasp
Flirting with my sanity, the edges of my mentality intangible even to me
Emotion and sensation come with wordless deprivation
My only possessions a need of expression and bouts of depression
My existence is a strange thing
Fleeting yet immeasurable
Stark but plentiful
Boundless in its possibility but nowhere near infinity
Only infinitely able to reach through time and space (the depth & circumference of my ripples in the world pond)
If I come to understand the navigation of this place
If I make friends with the mirror, with the aging in my face
With the changes in my pace, with my plateaus
As part of a marathon divine race

The New Spiral

There’s a new rhythm dripping ink into my aorta
Spreading tendrils through my veins like fresh Ivy on a crumbling wall
The ruins of me are majestic to behold, yea
But the growth I’m going through is a blessing to be told, yea
They’re gonna lift me up!
Into new light, new light
They’re gonna lift me up!
And give me new sight, some fresh fight
My tank was running low, fumes can’t feed the fire
I was getting tired so I called someone higher
Ooh this electric body’s made for storms and raging fire – I am
The Lady Constantine
Here to shatter your perceptions, add starlight to your reflections and then guide you all to heaven
I’m not pure but it’s okay
God & Company made me this way;
dogma has no place in my divinity
If you’re in my vicinity
Come on through my city, we
Third eye seeing
With that new light, new light
We
Heart and soul bleeding for
That new light, new light

First of the Season

I’m holding myself together here
Threadbare
Tiny vodka in the trash bin, secret downtown sin
Trying to capture images of my fleeting feelings in the red brick
In the sunset
In the sidewalk cracks and blacktop
It’s Good Friday
All I smell is the loud Coney Island off the highway
Enticing oil breezing by me, it should be a high day
Hope he doesn’t taste the raspberry burn on my lips
Hope he forgets that I’m not sleeping
Hope I’m as good as keeping it together as I used to be
God knows I can’t keep myself from me

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