Betty Stanton
Whisper
Fire simmers beneath the bed, whispers threading into sleep,
smoke slipping beneath the skin sweet as venom, murmuring
false vows, devoted promises already broken. Our blood rises
in fever, a rhythm collapsing somewhere between princess and
witch, between mask and face, where passion becomes a shrine
to nothing, to empty, to mouths screaming their own ruin. Eyes
glistening, wax dripping from our lashes, we melt into sheets and
unfold, a pageant of horrors that cling like ash to bare skin, sting
closed eyes. Every kiss is a blade dressed in silks, scattering us
in fragments of burnt kindling, melted wax. We are yearning
illusions, desire tied to the bedframe, feeding the flame. Nothing
will last. We are only the iron breath, the sharp edges, the whisper
that devours us again and again, promising to remember the flame.
Bio
Betty Stanton (she/her) is a Pushcart nominated writer who lives and works in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in various journals and collections and has been included
in various anthologies. She received her MFA from The University of Texas - El Paso and holds a
doctorate in Educational Leadership. She is currently on the editorial board of Ivo Review.
@fadingbetty.bsky.social