

a tongue of flowersa fan hums strongly she's breathing but the gusts drown it out.a tongue of flowers
(blood trembling invitingly, so pretty pulsing into me, i am here bright red; alive.)
pressing the pillow to her mouth; dreaming and dreading and spreading her legs for no one.
in a world where leaves fall upside-down and tears fall into worlds of ocean.
(in the corner of her room a flower wilts and nobody says a word.)
is this peace? no, it's an emotional standstill that cuts int


fulfilling an empty circlea low voice is whispering symptomsfulfilling an empty circle
while she withers away he presses ignore (yet you still remain my faithful whore.)
pleading for silence, instead she finds muteness. pressed to her mouth are his hollow excuses.
she tastes honeyed insecurity; a medicine of failure a syrup of fascinations and endless complexes.
"there's something wrong with my body," she says. "it might be nothing, but i'm scared that i might be empty"
missing menstruati


peaceful suffocationdon't say a word don't say a wordpeaceful suffocation
(his whispers are disconcerting and they might be overheard.)
his shadow is filling the breadth of my being
a grey stare that strikes me down
storm clouds absorb the warmth of my eyes.
the sky darkens but i'm not afraid it's like a quiet blanket that will enfold around me
as he covets me relentlessly.


beauty feasts upon the firea distant vice breathes in ice and air tasting emptiness and cold, pure cravings.beauty feasts upon the fire
isolation fulfilled with skipping heartbeats and ash.
smoke twirling in circles as to bring relief from mirrors reflecting an exacting lust.
by all means i want to look away but my fingers splinter the glass, each shard glittering cruelly.
(annihilation is stalking me and beauty devours eternity.)
--
hold your thoughts, they clash with the walls.
--
[link]
my music
--
"Quand les critiques ne sont pas d'accord entre eux, l'artiste est en accord avec lui-même."
[ Oscar Wilde ]
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