Art. Friends. Family. Food. Love. Me.My Life.The Way I Want To Live It. .No One Can Tell Me How Anymore.
Whitewash By Chloe Heintz
Lay Still enough in the night and she will come to you. Curled in your floating cocoon, your eyes closed and you vibrate. Hum lightly. It's Shallow, what you tread upon, and it does not belong to you. After all, here is the scar burned into the tree. And above, the stars silence themselves in indignation as you sense some final turning of strings and stories. Truth is a collaboration between memory and desire, and these days, both sleep blandly beside you on limp pillowcases. So you see. You see, in this cocoon, what you have to go home to. Instead, you collect recipes and fingernails, posturing lewd before the innocents, those lepers, those freaks. You know how this will go. Kneel before her, sister, for she has come a long way, and you have waited.