“Carcass-gardener, honey-maker, the darkness pulls on your skin like tarp. Heart-render, life-taker, my maelstrom in sacrificial devotion, the bog in your veins is an outcry of phantoms. I watch corvids gather upon your shoulders, you lead them to the chapel, to a fissure in the night, where our brutality festers a red sea, a hindrance, like opium invading the system, like a star in a chokehold. We stand within what’s left of the sacrament. Unabashed; we have unraveled the maple leaves, waged a war of unforgiving light across the ribs of dead-end roads.”
— GRAVE-ROBBING || j.r (via jupiterreed)









