Isn’t it lovely being decaying matter?
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Isn’t it lovely being decaying matter?
Tonight, I’m going to run away as fast as I can from myself.
Blue for unsafe “Do not have sex” Red for Rolling “periods” and white for safe days “fornicate in peace”
She’d writhe in bed, well, not in pain but in orgasmic bliss, while holding on to the quilts and moaning like her soul had been set on fire. A harmless kind of fire. A fire that burns without actually burning you. A silent fire.
It is really pointless insulting someone who’s just going to agree with you.
If it is love, I will feel it from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. And if it is anxiety, I will hold me hostage to its false preachings of my unworthiness.
I know you are awaiting that period too when you leave the house for bread in the morning, only to return three days later, with no bread, (probably no money as well) but with a host of memories
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