𝕹𝖆𝖓𝖆

telling job interviewers i work great under pressure knowing id kill myself

You are cleansed of me, suffused skin steeped in alcohol.

I bow to your knowledge of dead birds and the way their skulls hold the secrets we whisper in their sleep.

The ways your eyes pierce like smooth blades across new skin.

I am all around you like new snow, and across me, you inscribe yourself as stonesmiths do to tombstones.

We are never were; we are beautiful in the absence of ourselves.

skvllpel

Red Letter No. 8 by Jen Mazza

by ㅤMara

I FOUND GOD

transcript under the cut