Month: August 2022

Made of Starlight

We are made of starlight and green limbs of the earth. We are deceiving eyes, waiting for their prey, while vast overgrowth whispers our names, chants our titles.

Trees lick the blood and suck the darkness from our veins.

Welcome to an unseelie court.

I am starting to write my trickster fae novel. There will be spiders and rose petals. They will be love and scorn.

And there will be pointy ears flashing through the woods.


Forever Is a Long Time

Forget forever, forest child, as forever is bathed in forgetness. The more you live, the more tucks in dark caverns of the brain and is swallowed by time. Eaten by days that pass, drank by nights that cradles us to sleep. Forget forever, as forever is really a long time.

I never cried after my father, he was always a threat in my life, a dark candle burning over my safety, its light flickering over my happiness. When he died in flurry of blood, just before my eyes, I felt nothing. It was like dark flame of his existence created a black hole in which all my feelings were sucked and pressed by gravitation.

I felt like the same black hole spits me in another dimension, into much kinder world, lacking him, his insults and drunk presence. I felt like my dark wings gain feathers, not less black, but softer.

And I still didn’t feel anything.

But I am scared how short my memory reaches into days when he was alive. My memory, a thing I was always proud of, doesn’t summon his face, his voice and even events which were good, when we both were younger and better and our relation wasn’t stained by vodka.

I remember… nothing.

Aside of a day, when he took my dog and returned without her. My memory had to filter this of all, leaving hazy days of youth in annoying pit of forgetness.

I would like to remember, I would like to choose what I remember. But maybe it’s better that way.

I don’t want to remember some things, that I would be too afraid to recall, if I did. And I know they would be coming back.

And forever is really a long time.

The Baker

For my cat, who is maybe old, but with age comes experience – he is the best baker.


my ginger leaf, amber shadow
rose skin covered with rust
baker of the morning cookies
you knead the dreams
with taloned paws

your voice descends on the pillow
a ragged tune of content
copper lazy days
filled with your autumnal gaze

brownies and milk
tucked into goose feathers
like a mole hidden underground
you lift sharpest eyes to the sun
embracing the world that needs
a good bakery, when night shuts its door
giving a way to the waking daylight

To Goth or Not to Goth

Me: I want to be clad in black goth girl, black eyeliner, black lipstick, lace, latex and vampire fangs, all enveloped by wings of darkness.

Me (as well): I am too lazy to wear all that stuff and bite my own lips with fake fangs. I am too lazy to be a good goth.

I ended as a messy forest spirit, wearing crown of leaves, branches vest and nothing more. Leaves. Leaves everywhere! Gloriously unorganized…


Me: *does work, chores, stuff that people need to do to have life [ serious person serious when it comes to job thing ]*

Also me *inside my mind*: I am a beast unleashed to throw light to its knees. I am an everwild hunter stalking the night with claws clenched on a heart of the forest good, blood running hot, when I sink my teeth in a flesh of darkness.

Cursed Witch

A demon sleeps in me, it has the shape of my fear. Shape of my madness. Shape of my despair.

It burns, calls and whispers; leap into me, swim in me, jump in my fiery embrace. Fire will clean you – of everything, of your body and thoughts. Of your pain and your doubt. Fire will give you second life, life of a god of a flame, where every limb and every tendon blazes wih high conflagration.

Give yourself to me, child. You have nothing to lose.

You have nothing to lose but your soul.

It will leave the burning witch, calling on the gods who are also burning, with even higher flame. Kronos laughs and ashes the field that I irrigated all spring.

Laugh, little flame, laugh cursed witch. The white of the snow seems so unreal now.


We are all doomed! The Pesta approaches!

Sun always worked terribly on my skin, but I am reaching new vampiric level this year. My pale skin cracks and sometimes even bleeds. I want this summer to end and give me rain and clouds, so I can enjoy outdoors.

These incidents reminded me my school nickname. Dracula. Nothing that I couldn’t deal with, but still, I envied kids who just pranced like ponies on the sun and I had to noble myself up and pull a fanged aristocrate.

If only I could also live forever. Or have strength or glamour of vampires. In this case, it’s NOT worth it!