A.V. Shurling
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whowhywerewolf.bsky.social
A.V. Shurling
@whowhywerewolf.bsky.social
3 followers 2 following 3 posts
writer of poetry, paranormal erotica, sff 〜 passionate about ttrpg beyond the hegemony of D&D 〜 texan by birth, appalachian by blood 〜 left is best
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whowhywerewolf.bsky.social
"Lily Coldmoth," sonnet -- 2019/08/24 my favorite sonnet i've ever written. a lot of what i do is trying to recapture the feeling i had when writing this. i couldn't get there today, but it's nice to look back (sometimes)
text of poem: You spread your wings of whispered silken moon And fluttered in my bedroom like a thought; And with your fingers lily white you caught My breath and wove it into a cocoon. My glassy nerves were all in one big knot; You wrapped my secrets softly in your tongue; Our future and our past were draped and hung, A new aurora that our bodies wrought. The air grew thick with riddles left unsung, But when they cleared I found myself alone. The ceiling was an empty azure throne. I rubbed my eyes until the silence stung, And for a moment saw a glimpse of you Within a swelling burst of violet-blue.
September 6, 2023 at 3:52 AM
whowhywerewolf.bsky.social
"My swollen heart clings to my spine" a Villanelle -- 2019/07/20
y'all can have a little taste of body horror from my archives, as a treat
text of a poem: My swollen heart clings to my spine With barely strength to stay attached, Like fruit that rots while on the vine. As bones and muscles misalign— The stringy sinews maimed, mismatched— My swollen heart clings to my spine. My blood, a wretched, rancid wine, Seeps out from skin that's scarred and scratched, Like fruit that rots while on the vine. Pale capillaries intertwine; A pulsing sorrow, newly hatched; My swollen heart clings to my spine. A corpse whose flesh has lost its shine, Its ragged tissue pocked and patched, Like fruit that rots while on the vine... The prison called no name but mine, A howling horror still unmatched. My swollen heart clings to my spine, Like fruit that rots while on the vine.
September 5, 2023 at 1:37 AM
whowhywerewolf.bsky.social
Werewolf Villanelle -- 2023/09/04
i didn't begin this poem intending for it to become werewolf-themed, but that's where my head's at these days ig. enjoy
text of a poem: an urgent pressure from within pushes darkly at the seams: a second self beneath my skin. the threshold stretches, wearing thin, a breath caressing both extremes: an urgent pressure from within. O furtive kiss, inverted twin, portending nothing, spending dreams; O second self beneath my skin. The yearned-for turning can't begin while all this burning fury teems: an urgent pressure from within. reject -- REJECT! -- the strain of sin, that chain they forge with fearful screams, you second self beneath my skin. I Am Thou, and We Are Kin, a One that our shared Us redeems with urgent pressure from within: the Second Self beneath my skin.
September 5, 2023 at 1:18 AM