mememememememememe. - i won't live in another city with no windows
i'd rather die with the sun on my face.
M Y C O P H O B I A
My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it’s getting cold.