Orphic || Tom Riddle

𝖎

Viennese air is
wine from the vines behind the golden street labyrinth,
kissed by Dionysus and loved by Apollo,
wine and sun for the Weinviertel,
madness and music for Vienna,
and it's filling British lungs with a haze of melancholy
they don't understand.

Viennese air is
finest fabrics and vibrant colours
fine Fräulein and handsome Herrn
Guten Tag Guten Tag Guten Tag
all through the heavy, sparkling air,
soaked in tunes of misery and joy
and so much music
that not even the Heavens can compare,
the angels cry, 
harp and trumpet long forgotten
as the Viennese horns and Bösendorfer pianos are holy now -
who cares about religion when you don't need angels to hear their playing?

Viennese air is
not easy to breath
as every breath you take
is hitting and hitting and hitting against your trachea
three times per bar
because Viennese don't walk
they waltz through their lives,
accomponied by their beloved Strauß.

And maybe Viennese air
isn't anything to breath at all,
maybe it's merely the Viennese' thrall
maybe, yes, maybe it's just flair.

At least a couple of British visitors come to this conclusion, merry with wine and music that just seems to sound so much better, so much more natural here and they're laughing whilst drawing their first pentagram with Viennese blood.

⁺*⁺*⁺*⁺*⁺*⁺*⁺

i'm rlly sorry that the first chapter didn't come for so long and then it's such garbage, like, you haven't even got a reward for waiting, just some rotten eggs. but guess who inspired me to finally write this: virginblue ofc bc her poetry is superb and she also said i should try to write this with poetry but yeah, it's like a car accident: very ugly and you rlly don't want to experience that again so i'll try to write in prose again next time bc nope
Ellie just reassured me to republish this, so here u have this stuff again, yeahhhh