I am especially bad at math these days.
A grab, a slap, a spit:
” I want your gaze distant, my drink (smell of) tree roots going deep under moss and yours of rye and corn sweat under the southern scorching sun, your hands big, and slap weighty”
A month in (somebody else’s) pictures.
Hey,
Why this feels like an eternal black ballet? With armies of my half-swans dying in your stale waters. Their feathers glued to my skin. Glue stretching across months, across continents. Not The Red Baron.
Not The Red Baron *
“una de nosotros”
by Francesca Woodman
I want to live on a farm, far away from your ego. To get away from your body, from your scent.
From those unpenetrable women that bite the sheets of your bed tomorrow yesterday forever."
My new love >.+
blak
please tell me what to do.
please tell me how to crawl out of this hollow. lined with soft black mold.
ты полюби меня хоть наполовину.
(via celestial-skeletons)
Feels like I’ve been living in this house for 20 years already
Bones | Girls | Nudity | Fragility
Theme by Monique Tendencia