DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Sometimes even the knowing, the wisdom of it all, didn’t hold fast to the emotions, to the feelings, of an overbearing semblance. Deimos was ever the pragmatic, but could be caught in anger, in wrath, in contemptuous loathing, if a manner of abhorrence stuck into his ribs, was allowed to fester. Bitterness could claw, could decay, could wither, and glancing upon Cordelia, he never would have thought her capable of those notions – allowing, permitting herself, to give over to rancor.
He took another sip of his tea, brows furrowing in thought as she unfurled another statement. Certain he was missing something – because he’d known Sah to be a talker without much preamble – the inquiry came out measured once more. He couldn’t answer her question without instigating his own. “Did something else happen?” Maybe the Thunder too, had been unraveled and unfurled in his grief.
He took another sip of his tea, brows furrowing in thought as she unfurled another statement. Certain he was missing something – because he’d known Sah to be a talker without much preamble – the inquiry came out measured once more. He couldn’t answer her question without instigating his own. “Did something else happen?” Maybe the Thunder too, had been unraveled and unfurled in his grief.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
