marissa

People used to tell me, “That’s not very nice,” and I’d look them in the eye and say “I know.” I never concerned myself with niceness, with formality. If my path to hell was a road, I’d be going 75 down it. I’m no longer that person, but I still don’t know what to believe. Call it a hangover.

😏😏😏

Aries: The night is long, no rest can pass it.

Taurus: A cathedral of sand on charred beach grass. Stained-glass windows decaying slowly into the dunes from which they were formed. Here lies the sea.

Gemini: A lost cosmonaut, hollowed out like an apple. The night sky reflected in cracked glass, butterflies pour from the fissure.

Cancer: Olive trees grown on salted earth. Twisted faces in the bark beneath snow-laden boughs, heavy with fruit.

Leo: The offal self, interlaced bone and flesh and roses and feathers. Something that should hurt, but never does.

Virgo: A man uncoiled. Fast, slitted silhouette, stark against the evening light. Even the adults are home before dark.

Libra: A tall and hooded thing, bent low over the cradle. Whispered words. Sound sleep for a night.

Scorpio: Concrete boulevards. Stairs and doors in impossible places by some unknowable logic. Fog shrouds your sight, but you know it goes on forever.

Ophiuchus: Strange four-legged things. Thin like a greyhound with long snouts baring no eyes or mouth. Ears like a hare. They never cross the threshold.

Sagittarius: A young boy, drifting in place ten feet beyond the cliff. He gazes at the sky but cannot see the stars.

Capricorn: The woman in yellow, clutching her cheek as if weeping, the paint of her face dripping slowly down a penny-brown arm.

Aquarius: A bridge to another place. The leaves and grass grow scarlet on the other side, the air smells of something you’ve never tasted before.