#hpladiesnet

i am not a ghost. there is no blood in my veins; they are hollow and glassy and she scrapes fingernails against my muscle structure. we crack poems and mix them into pancake batter that won’t cook. it is too cold, even in the thawing hands of pride. i can eat these instead: the sound of electric blue paint, the feeling of her laugh, but we cannot breathe because we are not dancing on tumultuous legs in the needle-skin of the light and there is so much blood in my heart moving hurts. i know already i will learn to sew patches onto a girl like a pair of jeans while the door screams closed and Victoria falls away. the paint crawls silent.

moodboards for everyone ❤︎❤︎