xxx

Frigid fingers probe and rip apart, wearing down to the bone in this vain attempt to free herself of something more than this temporary release of parting skin around her hips, and scarlet lines shimmering down her legs this is her accumalation of lies.

She remembers a time when this was enough to bury emotion but the earth runs thin through her fingers and her ghosts make the most of the opportunity; whisper in her head the prayers to vanquish all cathartic murmurs, haunt her till she can barely stand...

Teeth scraping against her neck, she whispers in his ear 'fuck me and i wont make a sound' and he likes it more because she's so unresponsive (almost.like.rape but with no chance of being charged) She bites her tongue; on her knees the bathroom tiles making x-o grids on her knees, she'll play with lighted matches and shards of glass, documenting this into forgiving skin.. and when you come, she never makes a single sound because there's nothing left to say.

Mechanical motions, tragic beauty. The waves of post-human desire crashing against her soul and she entreats herself to an island where the waves dont reach so high and the moon comes out sometimes beneath this broken sky, going quietly insane.

As long as theres physical contact and some resemblence of emotion, she'll fill in the blanks herself.