dappermouth:

Aries: The
electric air of a far-off storm calls you to fields draped in dusk, and black clouds heaped tall on the horizon fill you with terrible longing for something you feel but cannot know—a fearful devotion to a place without shape, a love
that burns with no name.

Taurus: Before
sleep, strange memories bubble up–a buzzing cicada night where you pant and
push onward, pacing low to the ground behind an empty schoolyard, air thick
with the smell of snapped weeds and animal hair, the wail of a distant train.
You aren’t sure what belongs to you there.

Gemini: Sleep
doesn’t come like it used to, and the late air hangs heavy with the smell of wet
leaves and slow decay. It presses on you, a blanket of forest that fills your lungs.
Driving at night, you see deer in every shadow, bounding away into the trees,
always away.

Cancer: Deep in
the woods, a sheet hangs suspended above a dry riverbed–a cloth that moves
like translucent flesh over the stones and bends the light away. A voice calls
from the other side, and a dozen thin hands reach out for you behind the veil,
to cradle you, to bring you home again.

Leo: When the day
becomes unbearable, seek refuge in the absence of light. Your head comes alive
in the dark, a menagerie of sound, filled with beating wings and unfurling
green. Look into a mirror and see yourself, unfamiliar and intruded upon, a
wild animal watching you through your own eyes.

Virgo: A heart
shifts beneath your skin–a sleeping thing turning over, restless in its final
dream. You’ll become something new on the night that it wakes, and when someone
calls out your name through the woods, searching, the sound will be lost
beneath the roar of the crickets, forgotten at last.

Libra: You’ll
find it lying on warm pavement in the black of night, an
inscrutable god whose head curls back as it returns to the ground. It will
speak its final prayer to you through the sizzling static and swaying
powerlines, warped and guttural with grief. Stay until the air goes quiet.

Scorpio: There is
something you’ve forgotten, though it’s not entirely gone. Trying to remember
it now brings a sad sort of pain, an aching in your eyes and arms. Let your
hands guide you, and find something buried beneath the lake, near the
shore–entombed in silt, bones that once were yours.

Sagittarius:
Visions tear at the corners of your eyes, peeling back the edges. There’s
something just beneath, another place turned back like a hazy reflection, at once
familiar and strange. It comes and goes, hitches your breath, leaves you gazing
toward a distant mountain that was never there.

Capricorn: In
dreams, you hear a language without words, a deep humming from the ground and
air around you. You wake to a bitter leaf curled beneath your tongue, and a
circlet of grass about your neck. Outside, the world is murmuring, and each
sound seems like a voice.

Aquarius: Pillars
of white smoke float like phantoms between the trees at dawn, flameless and
churning among the leaves. Count them before they fade in the light of day—they
are meant as a message, and mark the days until they return for you. Be waiting
outside when they arrive.

Pisces: To your
eyes, the sky moves faster than it has before, sweeping clouds across the
landscape like breakers on the sea. Your blood feels cold, rushed, and the
stars streak across the black expanse, like tracers behind headlights, like the
world is falling away.