Lighting a cigarette / with a candle from a shrine / shoving needles into mannequins / talking to the ghost in my room / where shadows of wings flicker on the walls / Pictures fall like autumn leaves / to be buried in soil / burning underground / Boxes of padlocked memories / collecting dust in vaults / Forgotten wounds / wild wood of silence where beacons glisten / leading to rapture
- Darla Cathilde Cutherford
I'm Darla Cathilde. I'm an alter ego of a girl named S.
I look exactly like her. I'm morbid. I like the color red. I am a libertine at heart. ♥
writing
• Info
murdered purity
I look exactly like her. I'm morbid. I like the color red. I am a libertine at heart. ♥
writing
• Info
murdered purity
You drowned yourself in the vacant pool of water and light.
You spoke to the mirror and it wouldn’t respond.
The fruit on your table was left to rot. Your walls were yellow like faint sunlight and nicotine.
I felt Death materialize. He caressed my face with his scythe, pentagrams of violet in his eyesockets, more real than god. You were ceasing to breathe by the phone in the kitchen.
The back door opened in the wind and I felt sick. I smoked a joint and held a pink gemstone while Death explained that you were filled with fentanyl. You were running from probation and seeking paradise.
I hope you found archangels and the peace that earth never had. I hope I see you in cloud formations.
The gods can’t return you to me and I’m holding you on the floor, my eyes like a volcanic eruption.
I’m wet with your blood and as loud as a war. A hummingbird heart demanding to break through my chest.
I see a skull drawn on your calendar for this day in June. Water drips on tin. I can’t wake you up.
- Darla Cathilde Cutherford
I am the criminal under a staircase.
They walk up and down to rooms filled with skulls.
Paintings bleed. Blossoms seethe red.
The incandescence of death flares, tearing through wallpaper.
Like a gun with wings, I shoot everyone I behold, and then I fly away.
Ascending from the vacant lot where blood flows through syringes, hourglasses, gravel.
They guard the emerald castle with AK-47s.
Standing on clouds as white as cocaine.
I live in storm water, the gutter, or next to spray-painted walls.
Plummeting down hundreds of stairs.
Eyes as blank as a cell. I make the gash open wider.
- Darla Cathilde Cutherford
