𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴

Trigger warning: Death - the smell of death lingers in hallways, behind super glued bedroom doors, in between the couch cushions of your childhood living room, behind this wallpaper, the one you insisted on painting over once you hit the tender age of twelve because big girls can't have murals of ...

Tw: Strong language. - If I could, I'd snip the tissue of your jaw just to climb inside of your hallowed mouth, navigate the crawl space of your throat with novice hands to feel how your words are formed, and by god, it better be bloody; a fire and brimstone furnace beneath my barren feet. ...

"Happy birthday" It's whispered against frozen earth, rough grit biting lips, chapped flesh peeling back; It's fitting, this small carnage. There is so much to tell you, yet, like a man, I speak only to dust, to diaries, to debris, spilling secrets to stones and setting them free, hoping that ...

Does this make sense? No. Am I posting it anyway? Yes. I apologize in advance. TW: Slight language and religious themes. - If I am to ever be kissed, I hope that lies are indistinguishable from lips, for I don't think I could bear another's awareness of what I am: a habitual thing...

I am still trying to figure out how deep this connection runs, if we are still distinguishable as "separate". Are we two godforsaken voices lamenting to the quiet, smothering our reality in manic miasma, or have we fused? Does your breast heave with each of my gunsho...

Tw: Strong language, mentions of sexual content and death. - I did not consent to your presence or smug preeminence in the corner of my bedroom, to the baritone stutter that my head happily carbon copy's into the present, or to the mocking push and pull of your unbloodied smirk, so why the h...

Trigger warnings: Mentions of drug use and death. Dizzy, drowsy, diaphanous to touch, this interstice between wakefulness and dream, Rem and reality. Morpheus and his half-baked spells keep me in limbo, teetering the tightrope, yet failing to fall either which way - eternally stuck in this bro...

They are a conglomeration of hearts dripping sun rays onto cheekbone canvases, non-bitten lips stretched wide over throw pillow molars, light heads launched back, humor ringing harmonious from their lyres of larynges, laughter coming as easy to them as oxygen, as oxytocin, as the oxymorons and si...

i What did his voice sound like? Did it speak of hellfire? The same kind that ran through his veins and under his bruised heels, scorching the new earth he wandered upon? Did it leak into his guttural taunts? Words lighting flames under your wrists until they raced to grasp forbidden ...

He grimaces at the bed while she sleeps; dandelions, purslanes, and other equally winsome falsities daintily winding around his ventricles as she wakes, greeting him with porcelain teeth barred in a fox-like grin. "Come lie with me." she beckons He stills, her honeycomb tone turning h...

Each sound rises from their chests as a poised danseur; floating nimbly up their throats, swan diving off their beaks, and landing lightly upon the eardrums of ersby. With elegance and eloquence they twirl; baroque ballerinas birthed from ionian grace notes — sublimely staccato sugar c...

i We were there when Hades gripped her by the thigh; staring in awe as that chariot rose, his mares mere blurs of ebony against the juniper field, as he swiftly plucked that lone azalea from her sleepy garden. Oh, how she screamed; crying that lonesome tune only the wilting know; the e...