dandelion resting on my lips like a cigarette

listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers

🍬

side wound realness

listening to Britney 💞

do you think we’ll be in love forever?

listening to Father John Misty

me + loml

pink is IN for 2025 also tools and baseball bats

listening to Gwen Stefani

why was this not in my size 😭💔

listening to sports car

an ache like a still life worshiped by flies

A watched pot never boils, but a left pot drowned me. I feel the scalding liquid at the back of my throat threatening to push down my last wall. I have no choice but to drink it in, past what feels like my fill. Have I ever known what enough is? I'm starving myself of my own self—I never take in as much as I am. I take the steamed joys and bottled gratitudes, but I shove aside this bowl. Swallowing my grief takes a chasm. Stomaching it takes a gully. I have to carve a path for it, eroding my walls just enough to let the grief trickle in. But there's the critical moment, where it threatens to overflow. Like a bubbled over pot, it teases the edge, and I've never drank this much in all my life. There is no final gulp for a long time, but the aftertaste is of rosemary.