And then it changed. I wasn't letting him anymore. He was taking, pawing, grabbing. I pushed, I cried out, I squirmed, but like I said it's a shitty game, and he didn't feel like playing by the rules anymore.

— Taylor Rhodes

Blessed beseech isbothfuriousand magnificent

— Taylor Rhodes

Derelict. My voice cracked and yolk poured out. Wind chimes rigid, no breeze, no song. My wings found hidden in your suitcase. Pleas for help mistaken for a swan song. I'm stuffing pages from my journal down my throat as kindling. Hoping the smoke will get the taste of you out of my mouth. He looks at me from across the room and all I want is to push him against the wall. Ravage. Ravage. Carnage has never been more vogue. Is it still art if it doesn't bring you to your knees? Lover, let me prey at your altar. Let me bare my fangs in praise. Don't I look so pretty in a funeral shroud? I keep time with the click of my creaking bones. Dance with me under the milky translucence of a world suffocating. How did you find me? I buried myself beneath the cicadas. Is a girl trapped in glass still a prize?let me get under your skin. I want to know what your fears taste like. I want to consume.

— Taylor Rhodes

He tilted my chin up, and I swear those lips are magic. Witchcraft. Sorcery. Whatever it is in those lips, it’s addictive. Unassailable. I had to have more. More of this feeling of being wanted.

— Taylor Rhodes

He walks into the bedroom like he owns it. Says, “i want to be filthy with you.” takes me down hungry. Helps me shed my skin. Cafuné. He looked at me like I wasn’t something ruined. Filled my vicious parts with gold. Touched me with too much yearning. He said, “I’d burn for you.” how can he not see we’re the creators of the fire? He growled, “moan for me.” the wolf bit down and I howled into the night.

— Taylor Rhodes

Highway wildflowers swaying like the ocean. Queen Anne’s lace like doilies for a tea party never attended. This is a conversation between two parts of yourself. The fever will break soon, but until then I’ll be untangling you from the knots in my windblown hair. I smell like a wet forest, like long grass covered in sequins. I called your name but was drowned out by the thunder. I remember you murmuring, “please,” while you took my shirt off. I remember you and the airy “please” when you pulled me toward you by my legs. I remember “please” while I learned how to let go. I remember your divine “please.” chanting it as if it’d draw a demon out of hiding. “Please, please, please.” and I screamed, “yes.

— Taylor Rhodes

Holy, holy, holy dawn. My hips rocking into your face. The edge inviting. Your name like dry wine on my tongue. Your name branded into my inner thigh.

— Taylor Rhodes

I'd felt the pop of the needle sliding into my veins, like a fang into flesh. I'd been enveloped in the golden haze where nothing is wrong even when everything is falling apart. A dance with a hypodermic fiend, my hands in the claws of a vulture.

— Taylor Rhodes

I drank from the crisp mountain stream, tasting filtered sky with a mossy undertone. I’ve never understood how being loved fully could change your entire perspective of the world. Furthermore, I only ever understood the wistfulness of it, and the longing and the frothy, violent bits. The mixed up, rained on parts. The escaped bits that smudge and bleed through. Slowly, I am coming to terms with how vulnerable I am to you, flat on my back like a submissive wolf pup. Daisy petals line your eyelashes, juice of a nectarine flavors your tongue. The side of your mouth twitches, hazy dreamscapes overtaking your mind while we bathe in the glorious autumn devastation.

— Taylor Rhodes

I dreamt I crawled on top of you and kissed your hips, one at a time, my lips a smolder. I straddled your waist and pressed both shaking hands against your torso. Spongy, like an old tree on the forest floor. I push and your flesh sinks inwardly, collapsing with decay, a soft shushing sound. A yawning hole where your organs should be. Maggots used to live here until your own poison killed them off. I laid my cheek into the loam and three little mushrooms brushed over my eyelid. Peat, decomposing matter, all of it, whatever you wish to call it, rested in the cavity of your chest. And there I planted seeds in the hopes something good would come out of you.

— Taylor Rhodes