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poetry. of a kind.
So, quite a while ago I promised both ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darthrami and lunamystic that I'd write them a Adam-Lucifer-Trebonds fic for their birthdays.
I wrote a sestina.
...don't hurt me?
not quite family: an analysis in six acts
i
It’s almost at the point where they don’t talk, like
there’s nothing left to say that wouldn’t be filler, just
looks and laughs that sparkle like a star like the scar
on Lucifer’s palm. No matter. No break
down in communication between the dead
and the immortal, between eyes violet and mocking red.
ii
All that matters is them. Adam’s fingers run through her red
hair and she sleeps like
she’s never worried a day in her life, sleeps like the dead
with a smile on her face. He kisses her jaw just
so, her breath hums in and out with nary a break
in the pattern. He traces her lips and finds a hidden scar.
iii
Adam’s cheeks are clear but sometimes he feels the scars
left by a sword (traitor); Thom’s are still stained red
on the rare occasion, but not as often. The silence breaks
and words fall between them; this doesn’t mean I like
you, Thom says, so don’t start looking smug. It’s just
that she needs to love someone who isn’t dead.
iv
It’s hard to say: I don’t want to see you when I’m dead,
I don’t want to let you leave another scar
on my life. Adam can’t say this. He just
keeps coming back, clenching his fists, white-red
knuckles and a snapping voice because nobody knows like
his father does how to push him; where he’ll bend and break.
v
Alanna hates that she’s still scared, can still feel the break
of bones in her wrist, still feel her face go dead
white. She hates that Lucifer treats her like
a caricature of her brother, hates the way the scar
makes him look mortal, hates his eyes because the red
is too deep. But past the hate…she likes him. (Only just.)
vi
Thom thinks the way she looks at him is so unjust,
like he’s a type of glass that’s hard to break
but still will shatter; bleed and shatter, bleed red
onto her shirt. It’s not his fault he’s dead.
Or perhaps it is. She frowns, and he sees the tiny scar
next to her mouth like his; their lips are full; they’re so alike.
It’s just an easy way of living (even when you’re dead),
it’s the way they never break but painful scars are left
that run like cords of red, up and down from their hearts.
darthrami and lunamystic that I'd write them a Adam-Lucifer-Trebonds fic for their birthdays.I wrote a sestina.
...don't hurt me?
not quite family: an analysis in six acts
i
It’s almost at the point where they don’t talk, like
there’s nothing left to say that wouldn’t be filler, just
looks and laughs that sparkle like a star like the scar
on Lucifer’s palm. No matter. No break
down in communication between the dead
and the immortal, between eyes violet and mocking red.
ii
All that matters is them. Adam’s fingers run through her red
hair and she sleeps like
she’s never worried a day in her life, sleeps like the dead
with a smile on her face. He kisses her jaw just
so, her breath hums in and out with nary a break
in the pattern. He traces her lips and finds a hidden scar.
iii
Adam’s cheeks are clear but sometimes he feels the scars
left by a sword (traitor); Thom’s are still stained red
on the rare occasion, but not as often. The silence breaks
and words fall between them; this doesn’t mean I like
you, Thom says, so don’t start looking smug. It’s just
that she needs to love someone who isn’t dead.
iv
It’s hard to say: I don’t want to see you when I’m dead,
I don’t want to let you leave another scar
on my life. Adam can’t say this. He just
keeps coming back, clenching his fists, white-red
knuckles and a snapping voice because nobody knows like
his father does how to push him; where he’ll bend and break.
v
Alanna hates that she’s still scared, can still feel the break
of bones in her wrist, still feel her face go dead
white. She hates that Lucifer treats her like
a caricature of her brother, hates the way the scar
makes him look mortal, hates his eyes because the red
is too deep. But past the hate…she likes him. (Only just.)
vi
Thom thinks the way she looks at him is so unjust,
like he’s a type of glass that’s hard to break
but still will shatter; bleed and shatter, bleed red
onto her shirt. It’s not his fault he’s dead.
Or perhaps it is. She frowns, and he sees the tiny scar
next to her mouth like his; their lips are full; they’re so alike.
It’s just an easy way of living (even when you’re dead),
it’s the way they never break but painful scars are left
that run like cords of red, up and down from their hearts.
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omg. You're amazing. :-*
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*gapes*