June 2012
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“I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.”
– Sylvia Plath
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cybergay:
i wish getting laid was as easy as woohooing
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I’ve bought a mac lipstick in a lovely shade of pink and green cateye sunglasses and a moleskine diary and a cute dress and some black platform shoes
Anonymous asked: what/who is your dream girl? or do you have none?
I liked her best in the morning, standing, swaying, in bed sheets, asking what day it was and trying to recall if we had any lemonade. She was wonderful without meaning to be an I know that if I told her the wonderment would stop, that her blonde head would get heavy with privilege and maybe she’d get dressed one day and leave. There were no curtains so sometimes I’d wake at five in the morning...
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throbbed:
i’m havin a lot of difficulty trying to figure out why I’m not someone’s dream girl
She bled. I kissed her daisy head and ate her floral scent, told her it meant she was a real girl of lust and dirt and red. That her chest in slow shy risings shall bloat, she’ll cry when breaking, her innocence escaping through her thighs. She licks her wound with kitten fingers as the daisy in her skin dies.
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