Bethany Samaddar - Break

Hi Friends, I need to take a break for a bit. For anyone who has left me a comment on my writing in the last few days, thank you so very much. Your support means the world to me. I have seen them all, and I am grateful. 🙏 I will try to respond when I return. Hope to see you very soon. Until then, happy writing, and I’ll miss your friendship and creativity. 🙏💖🌸✨

Tripping tales rock paper scissors Loser drops dimes (tripping tales) #Only8Words @only8words (rock) #PennedReveries That 👊

Then she returned. Abrupt. Incomplete. Wrong. The forest shuddered. This was not life clinging to death. This was something else. Something that had no place in either. The wolf lowered himself to the ground. Slowly. Intentionally. As he had done once before, in a hollow filled with blood and silence. He would not leave. The raven watched him. Or something within her did. Time stretched. The light faded. Night began its slow descent between the trees. Still she remained. Still he stayed. Neither moved to end what could not be resolved. And so the forest endured it. As it endures all things it cannot immediately undo. But deep beneath the soil, where the oldest roots curl through ancient dark, something stirred with growing certainty. For what had taken root here was no longer a moment. No longer a memory. It was becoming. And becoming, the forest knew, was far more dangerous than anything that simply refused to die. For death is an ending. But this— this was a beginning. And the raven— the thing that wore her shape— did not leave. It could not. It would not. For something had bound her there, beneath the branches, within the hollow where blood had once marked the snow. Something stronger than decay. Stronger than silence. Stronger, even, than death. And the forest, though it recoiled from it, could not deny what it had witnessed. That some things, once spoken— once named— refuse the grave. And in the hollow where the earth still remembers the taste of her fall, where the air itself bends around her lingering shape— she remains. Waiting. Unfinished. For the one she called Beloved. 2/2

@Changedhandle1 I just love how this descends into chaos. Clever write! 😄👏✨

Field of snakes Blades of grass Waltzing gardens It was so beautiful Pastoral Rural Spring was in the air Opening portals To mere mortals Till beyond the gaze of my mesmerized eyes An emotional twisted transistor Loudly broke out in cries “The snakes are vipers” “The blades are knives” “The gardens are infested with dancing deadly flies” Chaos embraced My heart it raced I said a lil’ prayer A twist A turn I braced I ran I left in a haste My day debased Innit Ain’t Done with tomorrow Done with today I never go back there Better safe than to err (waltzing gardens) #loveletters @dearloveletters (field of snakes)3/17 (blades of grass)3/18 #BedroomEyes @OldSoulProse (pastoral) #OurPoetryX @OurPoetryX (spring) #366FF (emotional twist) #weirdmicro (chaos) #WriteMap 454 (ain’t done with tomorrow) #moonmystic That 👊 Image generated with Google Gemini

The dream.. Replays. Eyelids.. Fluttering. She.. Screams Out. Fingers.. Gripped. Begging Time for... An encore. Inhaling.. Shadows Taking.. Different Forms.. Submerged In a fire.. That Never.. Savored Before.. Chewing. She took Her last.. Leap of.. Faith.💫🖤

Compassion nowadays is seasonal... it blooms lavishly in spring feasts and starves itself to death in winter.🩸🥀

I wait with bated breath in fated anticipation in fathomless longing so oddly connected to a soul unmet the yearning to feel fingertips inside my ribs and lapping at dreams spilling down my parched throat and I reach out in my minds' eye for astral breath to stifle my suffocation

I rest upon the shores the brutish sea at my feet I have given all that I am I seek only to rest where kindness tames the beast, engulfed in your tender waves #FoxProse @FoxProse Pinterest

The bite of your teeth sinks into the curve of my shoulder like moonlight carving stone, a sharp silver sting that blooms into molten gold beneath your tongue’s slow, reverent sweep. Your nails drag crimson rivers down my spine—each line a quiet thunder of pain that shivers into pleasure, my cock pulsing deeper inside your velvet heat with every intentional, exquisite scratch. You roll your hips in languid waves, clenching around me until the hurt dissolves into liquid fire, and I arch beneath you, whispering your name like a hymn, craving the beautiful ruin of both at once.

The acrid tang of him is everywhere soaked into the floorboards and the bruises on my cheek I am tired of being the vessel for his lightning the jar that cracks but never quite shatters under the weight of his ruinous divinity He moves through the kitchen like a storm front knocking the air from my lungs without lifting a hand I watch the peeling wallpaper and the old coffee in the pot small...dying things that understand my silence to be chosen by a god wannabe is to be burned alive slowly... to have your name hollowed out until only the echo remains I pour the coffee dark and bitter as him and wait for the sky to fall again there is no grace in this unholy wreckage only the habit of surviving the strike #wildwickedwords @Changedhandle1

night embers and neon signs paint the black sky chaos spinning in broken rhythms dreams don't die but they never truly come alive in this lonely city #micropoetry #mywords #writemap @kira_clarke 📸 Galleria

Temptation isn't.. What you've already had. It's what you have yet.. To experience.💫🖤

Who Writes the Music Who writes the music when we are too close to speak— when our breath trembles and the light on your skin seems to remember me before I ever arrived?

Pain is more trouble than love is worth, I swear, A thief that steals the light and leaves despair. We pay in blood for every fleeting spark, Then nurse the burn long after it grows dark. Love promises a garden, soft and wide, But hands you thorns and bids you step inside. The joy arrives in flashes, sharp and brief, Then pain moves in to be your lifelong grief. It carves your ribs, it hollows out the chest, And calls the vacancy its quiet guest. We chase the warmth, we bleed to feel alive, Yet every pulse reminds us we survive On borrowed time, on borrowed breath, on lies That whisper “worth it” through the swollen eyes. So yes—pain outweighs the fleeting, fragile gain; Love asks too much, and leaves too deep a stain.

@eatenbymadness I really feel this. “We pay in blood for every fleeting spark…” Powerful, deep cutting words.

We promised each other permanence in a world addicted to forgetting. That was our quiet rebellion... defying the idea that everything must end. Even when our bodies give in to decay, our souls will still be there, dancing in the sky, waltzing with the shooting stars.🩸🥀

Her flags were red But he was colorblind Their love Trudged Through fields of gray He didn’t know He was unhappy Until the day She walked away

I surrender to the night Counting cracks on the ceiling Watching fan blades spin like propellers flying nowhere I'm envious of the stars granting wishes to others while bypassing my heart I surrender my sleep to unfinished dreams where darkness concedes with a sigh @OurPoetryX #OurPoetryX #Envious #poetry #writing 📷 Pinterest Image

A year offers its bounty in so many ways, so let's celebrate with the intensity of the pen. Today's prompt: a candle in the swamp (3/19) Be creative, and don't feel you need to use the words. Combos are always welcome. Include #FoxProse/@FoxProse for RTs.