The Siren's Echo

Anureet

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  1. 1 HR AGO

    Episode 74: Poetry Reading 18+

    Through the Heat of You I was the echo, chasing night, a restless hum beneath the light. Then came your fire, body and breath— a soft surrender, sweet as death. You touched my voice before it spoke, turned every shiver into smoke. Beneath your gaze I came undone, my pulse aligned—two hearts, one sun. The room inhaled, the world grew small, time bowed, and shadows blurred it all. Each movement whispered, slow and low, a language only fever knows. Your fingers searched, my reason fled, each gasp rewrote the things I’d said. Between the wanting and the take, you taught my hunger how to wake. Your skin—an ocean without shore, I drank, I sank, I needed more. The taste of dusk along your spine, the quiet burn of lips on mine. The air grew heavy, sharp, divine, I lost my edge, you lost the line. Each breath we took, each pause, each start, was poetry with a beating heart. You found the places fear had sealed, the cracks where longing never healed. Your mouth became my secret prayer, your hands rewove the dark with care. I opened, trembled, called your name, and nothing after felt the same. The night collapsed beneath our flame, and even silence bowed to claim. If love’s a sin, then damn me near, for joy has never felt so clear. You draw salvation from my sigh, and teach the fall how not to die. I crave the truth you make of pain, the thunder pulsing in your vein. You taste of honey, smoke, and storm— and I am lost in every form. Now every dawn feels half-asleep, your warmth the pulse I want to keep. Inside your arms, my world stands still— obedient to your perfect will. The sun can rise, the world can turn, but I remain where embers burn. Your breath restores the night I knew— I live, I die, through the heat of you. And when at last the light breaks through, I kneel before the shape of you. Not out of loss, nor out of plea, but awe for what you’ve made of me. Your name becomes the truth I say, the hymn that turns my pain to clay. In every wound, your warmth shines through— eternal flame, my faith — is you Written by https://substack.com/@chicandchillingreads This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit anureetwrites.substack.com

    3 min
  2. 1 DAY AGO

    Episode 73: Poetry Reading ASMR

    Your hands finds me with a certainty that feels practiced, not careful, not hesitant, just knowing exactly where to stay until I feel it everywhere. There’s something dangerous in the way you take your time, like you’re testing how much I can hold before I stop pretending I’m in control of it. I should step back. I don’t. Instead, I meet you there, closer than I meant to be, close enough that every breath feels like it belongs to both of us now. Your touch isn’t soft. It’s deliberate. Pressing, lingering, like you want a reaction, like you expect one. And I give it to you. Not all at once, but in pieces. The way my shoulders loosen The way my hands stop behaving. The way I lean in instead of away. You notice. Of course you do. Your grip shifts just enough and it sends something sharp and warm through me, fast enough to steal whatever I was about to say. There’s no space left now. Not really. Just contact, heat layered over heat, movement that starts small and then refuses to stay that way. You push, just slightly, and I push back. Not to stop you. Never to stop you. But to feel it more. To meet that pressure with something equal, something that says don’t hold back now. Because I’m not. Because whatever this is, it isn’t careful anymore. It’s the way your hands don’t leave. The way mine don’t either. The way every second stretches tighter, like something about to snap or give. And right there, on that edge, I let go of the last excuse to pull away. Not because you made me. Because I want to know how far this goes when neither of us stops. Written by https://www.threads.com/@thriftygirl365 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit anureetwrites.substack.com

    3 min
  3. 22 MAR

    Episode 70: Vignette

    With trembling hands, I place my heart upon my worn obsidian altar. This heart- this crudely yet lovingly stitched-back- together piece of me-beats out a strong and frantic rhythm. I step back, at first looking at my heart, seeing how fragile it looks, how beautifully ruined and imperfect it still appears to be. Even after all of the painstakingly devoted work I put into finding every piece and putting them back into place. I look up at the man standing on the other side of my altar, terrified yet hopeful and full of love. Will this be enough for him? Will he accept what I'm offering? He gently caresses the jagged edges, the still-visible bruises and scars placed by those who broke it before-the unworthy, the pretenders. He cautiously scoops up this precious gift into his hands, looking closer, inspecting it. He softly smiles, gazes into my eyes, my soul, before it all deadpans into an eerily blank stare. "You still haven't learned, have you, Little Goddess? You'll never be chosen-never loved nor wanted. Why would anyone choose something so broken and damaged?" My eyes blur with unshed tears, my soul once again fracturing apart as his words dig their claws into every corner of my being, shredding everything with no mercy. He crushes my heart in his unrelenting grip, shattering it into a thousand shards raining down upon the altar. Its light, musical tings echo throughout the chamber-his Cheshire grin and empty eyes the last thing I see before he vanishes in a cloud of smoke. Written by https://www.threads.com/@dark_witchy_goddess This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit anureetwrites.substack.com

    2 min

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