porcelain makes me pure
clean and white as bleached bones
pressed up against skin
sickly romanticization
oh how I adore you
disgustingly hollow, feed me ice
I love the feeling
of emptiness
I hate the self awareness
of disease
forgive me
a rice cake with green tea
as bland as air
barely preferable
it’s only grown worse
eat me alive
chew through my ribs
there is nothing left
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Author:
anemoia (
Offline) - Published: April 25th, 2024 11:45
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments1
Plenty of meat on those bones yet anemoia
Exciting writing
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