Smiling with teeth,
Opposite ends of our street.
You finding me scissors,
I’m wearing your rings.
Boys, in hordes, trying to convince me another hole in my face is: just a good idea[!].
I arch my brows in the mirror. See a landscape, mountain-tops. But no room for more embellishments. We all leave disappointed. I miss the exhilaration of a new addition.
The dreams I had whilst on Kava pills: Satanic, lesbian cult, me being photographed in the act. These photographs somehow ending up on my camera, my stepmother loading them onto her computer and laughing them off. Then attempting to sleep in my mothers back yard with old highschool friends, covering muddy puddles with duvets. I have no idea where the fuck that came from. The depths of my mind are obviously a really creepy place. Think the depths of the ocean, with those fanged-fish with light-attachments.
Anon Asked [sometime ago]: What do you do when you’re not writing?
I still don’t know what to say to this.. I’m really sorry.