Prose On Tumblr - Tumblr Posts

Feather

I have become a feather. My edges are fringed. I am full of light and made of promise. I am stupid with hope, there are no darkened spaces here. Fear is dead and falling in slow motion. There is no vague frontier now but Death’s alone.

And even as I’m falling, I may as well be flying. So let the ground rise to meet me,

and kiss me when I go. © JM Tiffany

Mad

Beneath a tracery of wires and glimmering stars we planted the seeds of our sinister intentions:

To go mad with pleasure.

Spreading, touching, shrieking like birds, talons gleaming black. Cries from the deep. Blur of living visions. The mouths of hounds and dark carrion birds. We consumed each other, we Eaters of The Dead.

Like little promises, our fingers laced and locked.

We clung to each other throughout the night, until, like shadows, shifting between worlds, it all seemed to fall apart.

The terrible machinery of her emotions burned behind eyes that demanded blood.

I gave her reasons without apology for the sacrifice, and lay softly upon the altar.

Only fools guard their throats in the presence of love. I bared mine, inviting my ruin like an old friend.

Instead, she collapsed; the weight of her lay on me like a shivering blanket.

Though the Dawn found us we had lost ourselves only to wake in each other’s dreams.

©️ JM Tiffany

Coffee

mid-September early morning rain drinking coffee remembering and forgetting hoping while despairing waiting for light waiting to end wishing wishing don’t answer this prayer don’t read the letter don’t open the box don’t let them see you don’t let them know the smile is a cut the laughter is a wound the world is a lie and childhood is a place where pain lives forever

©️ JM Tiffany

The Hell of Ten Thousand Kisses

Why did I want you?

Dark hole obscured by leaves. Empty sound of listless breath.

“Must... fill... this... chasm…

Need... more... souls... for... The Hell of Ten Thousand Kisses!”

(Maniacal laughter).

We stuffed each other into one another’s wounds.

I wasn’t empty but I felt hollow and the shape of your pain slotted neatly into mine.

Sometimes love is messy, like Jackson Pollock or blood spatter analysis.

It’s a miracle we survived, and something definitely died.

Naivety? Trust? The jury is out.

I’m clinging to hope… or maybe just discovering it.

I wanted you because anything was better than being alone with myself.

Now all I want is solitude and a peace so enduring that living things nest in it.

I have let Nature reclaim me and sink into the bliss of this Apocalypse.

©️ JM Tiffany

Heal

Sometimes it takes a few well-made incisions to heal.

Sometimes another cut is what it takes.

Sometimes we need to be broken again in order to set the bone.

Healing is not symmetrical. It is never uniform, never all at once, and rarely easy.

And some wounds, they never heal. Few will admit it. They prefer the myth of the healing clock. Don’t be like them.

Don’t wait on time to fix you. You will bleed to death if you wait.

Apply pressure. Send up a flare. Stay conscious. Hold on to awareness, and listen to your pain.

It asks only this: that you acknowledge what is happening, and that you give yourself what you need.

Help may or may not be coming. In the meantime, take care of yourself and surrender to the rough work of healing.

©️ JM Tiffany

I Am A Ghost Amid Invisible Ruins

Most will never see me. They will never know the quick knife of pain, taught and arced, gasping for breath.

They will never know the blistering sparks of the burning nerve.

They have not crawled through the numb fires of broken columns, or the warped shadows of dead futures.

They will never know the well studied ceiling, the constellations of textured paint and cracked plaster.

They cannot grasp the listless longing of endless unwanted rest. They will never know how I used to run and leap, will never know the power, strength, and grace of my body or how it was ruined in pursuit of glory.

They will never know how I wished for death, or how I ran towards it.

They cannot understand that I would jump once more into the fire.

©️ JM Tiffany

Strings

Ivy and hornbeam the color of honey join the new ghosts of Autumn’s world.

I feel the Sun’s fire on the great pines, as long shadows poke boney fingers through the briarwood.

Crows call in the forest as above the wooded hills of burning orange oaks a sweeping Hawk hunts.

I follow a lone Stag down a trail known only to beasts through a bright sea of amber leaves.

I feel the wildness of hardwood around me, and of balsam firs in the biting cold.

I lift a fallen feather and hold it to the Sun, now a hot coal searing into the West.

Bound by strings of spirit to bone, I would sink with it, through reeds and tall grass, to dream of you.

© JM Tiffany

Let The Water Be

There is a river that flows inside each of us. Some rivers are deeper than others. Some are wider and more accommodating. Some rivers are murky and polluted. (A lot of strange things can be found in them). Sometimes a river is where sadness comes to rest. Sometimes it carries things away. But always rivers are important for life, and all rivers must flow. Let the water be the water and it will wear away the stones. Let the water be the water and it will bear away the bones. Let the water be the water, and flow out to the sea. Let the water be the water, just let the water be.

©️ JM Tiffany

Nothing Here Is Dead

It was an early morning in late September and the monuments were waiting for the first blush of dawn.

I intended to visit a friend there but had brought my camera to shoot the rising sun.

I drove up a thin black ribbon past ancient stones and gnarled giants to greet the amber glow from the crest of a mighty hill.

The trees there were all fat and happy, their crooked roots sunk hungrily into the silent, sleepy tombs.

I hadn’t been well (and neither had the world) but I felt a certain vigor returning and the morning air resurrected me.

Unfortunately, I had been away too long and I could no longer locate his headstone.

It was just a small plaque anyway. So insignificant and unobtrusive. So unlike him when alive.

I laughed at the comparison.

The last time I visited I had brought his ghost a beer and some cigarettes.

A lot had changed since then and I was no longer a person he would recognize.

Of course, he would always be beautiful. And 27.

Had it really been so long?

Though the dead may rest there, there was so much life in that place. It was a green explosion, even with the new yellows of Fall’s intimation burning at the edges.

I passed a great old oak sporting an early burst of mistletoe.

It made me think of the god Balder and how the pretty, yet parasitic plant, had been used by Loki to kill the god of joy, a being loved by all. Oh how the nine worlds had wept when he passed away!

I told myself stories then about my fallen friend as the lens poured light from an ancient star into my insignificant little head.

Then I remembered that all of this is made of an endless fire.

Ashes are memories, I thought, but that flame lives on.

I was painting with light that morning while the light was painting me.

Nothing here is dead, I thought.

I packed my gear and drove home.

I smiled, because my friend rode with me, nestled warmly in my heart and sprouting from my head like little white berries in a golden hour.

©️ JM Tiffany 3/31/2024

Bloom

Driven by the jealous, quiet yearnings of a pulsating tyrant, I am cursed with a terrible heart.

Red lips parted, it places ravenous kisses on blushing skin.

Its needful, ardent grasp rises from a dark, feminine well; a crushing, velvet embrace of murderous sweetness.

Like a flower before the sun, I open urgently: a wanton bloom hungry for light.

© JM Tiffany 2024

Moss

No amount of fear or desire will tilt the scales of life. All the iron nails in the temple of my heart will not outweigh the core of the earth. The winds shall howl over the song of my breath and clouds will cover my nakedness. The trees do bend, but not for me. Mine is the stillness of spreading roots, the fixed and sleepy pace of moss. I do not resent this rain upon my face, but cursed are they that long for the sun.

©️ JM Tiffany 2024

Kissed By Ghosts

Not all ghosts howl in grief. Some may linger as the shadow of a kiss or tremble on your skin like a gentle hand. Some ghosts may tell you that you are pretty, that you are enough, even now. And some ghosts, you may discover, dwell in cottages made of lovely words. They may linger in a moment near a lake at sunset, or twirl their skirts gayly in a field of wildflowers. No, not all ghosts are weepy things with dark stories and terrible ends. Besides, even happy stories have endings, dear. And one day, I may whisper like a feathered breeze against your rosy cheek, reminding you of your worth, and speaking lovingly in the silences of the beauty of your eyes.

©️ JM Tiffany 2024

The darkness is a womb of endless Fire!

As we cross the Abyss upon the tightropes of our lives, most cannot help but feel some terror when faced with the enormity of the silent vastness of eternity.

Learning the truth, some do go mad.

I have watched men throw themselves headfirst into oblivion.

Some have built for themselves golden temples in which they offer up babies to the useless idols of war and commerce.

They have forgotten that all gods are false who shackle the mind and blind the heart.

Most people will do anything to avoid facing themselves. They instead worship desires, propitiate fears, and dwell in temples of trembling delusion.

Often, they will do anything but acknowledge the truth. Anything but sit quietly with the nameless unknowable mystery.

It seems only a few ever discover that its gift is freedom. They are serene who grasp the power of their own insignificance.

In all of this, never forget that you have a choice.

You can listen to the false comforts of the smiling faces and give your life to other people's stories, or you may write your own upon the skin of the Night.

It’s a thin choice, and neither leads much to sanity. But one offers fear while the other, wonders.

So… Be not afraid!

The darkness is a womb of endless Fire!

Can you not feel how the emptiness yearns to overflow? Can you not see how Nothing desires to become? Chaos tears itself apart in order to be filled with Light, and I wish so deeply to be luminous.

To shine.

To constellate.

To add my warmth and light to others.

Will you shine with me? If only for a moment? Like dancing embers winking in the dark, we are the retinal memories of a million sparks circling a hole in space and time.

That none of this was made for us is no cause for alarm.

Just hold my hand that we may burn the brighter and mark a small point upon distant eyes.

©️ JM Tiffany 2024