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WE WERE PROMISED JETPACKS
I miss you.
I love you.
How are you?
Video calls.
Do you need anything?
Has anyone found toilet paper?
I miss you.
Video calls.
I love you.
I'm losing my mind.
Sleep.
Eat.
Sleep more.
What day is it?
I miss you.
I love you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Ode to a Migraine
You slither behind my eye
To clamp around my cornea,
Before making a nest
Of the bones in my cheeks.
You creep lightning bright
Across my temples,
And thunder shudders
Down through my teeth.
You insidious fucker,
You vision stealer,
You blight on my brain -
Just leave me be.
I press pleading palms against you,
Shattering rainbows in my sight;
You will not yield,
I cannot sleep.
When our heartstrings cross, Like star’d lovers do, Never fear; Like ships in the night, This feeling will pass too.
m. s.
the crushing sadness overtakes me just like a southern summer storm sudden and all at once; sometimes there’s sun, most times not. the storm howls above me, in me, raging. this thunder sounds forever.
When you see me Your eyes warm, And your lips curl, And you look at me like maybe I’m home.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You’re a fucking opportunistic vampire, sucking the life and joy out of any goodness or kindness a person has to offer until they have nothing left to give, and you leave. You meet a person and evaluate exactly what they can give you and you take and take and take and take without ever giving anything in return. How many people have you left hollowed? How many people have you smiled and preened for to get exactly what you want? One of these days you’ll sink your teeth into someone, only to be met with stone and silver.
I could float the Dead Sea and yet the weight of my heart would drag me down.
I collect people in scents, in sounds. I bookmark them with memories that were printed long before I came to know their name, and go on to dog-ear pages they leave with me. Every person I've had in my life has a sound, a texture, a scent, a babbling brook of words. She's the smell of Nag Champa, the sound of the ocean rushing, the taste of blood and bubblegum. He's gravel underneath boots, the swig of warm whiskey from a flask, rides home in the back of a pickup after a day at the lake. He's the feeling of sand between your toes at sunset, the brushing of pinkies longing to be linked, the taste of Watermelon Jolly Ranchers. She's the laughter of unbridled joy, the highest point on a swing set, the taste of honey from fingertips. In my mind, I keep them all in mason jars, on a high shelf - terrariums of existences.
“Collecting People, or, The Constant Attempt at Capturing a Soul in Motion” - MuffyStopheles
