After you I was a dank slaughterhouse. Strips of flesh hung from iron hooks in meat chandeliers. The ruined remains glittered in the darkness like a mouthful of gold teeth. My cleaved soul dreamed to the whir of maggots sucking through the cement. I was a stinking room of self-hate and old blood, and it took years before I stopped clawing at my own throat like an animal at the stench of good love. I still rupture into this ugly, keening cry when someone cracks a window to let new light in.
  • Luka 𖠋 18 She Her / Cr: Yerba Buena by NINA LACOUR.
  • JoinedAugust 31, 2019

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