does my mouth taste like blood? one day i fear my understanding will run out. do i have the capability to be unconditional in my ways?
there are stove burns on my hands and baby’s breath twisted in and throughout my hair
pure love is pouring out of my heart and my body is plagued in disorder
i have so much to give but all i can do is leave myself to rot and rot and rot
my resting face is a pout and my demeanor is that of a lost dog. i will rip myself apart until the day that i die. curation is a past time and i only know expression through mutilation
my body consists of my mother’s bodily pathology and my father’s ego. My world is beige silk rainbows and nobody is allowed inside of me