a small rotting berry

✧˖ andrea - 24 ⋆｡

[viscousfruit]

[viscousfruit]

[viscousfruit]

your body was embroidery floss slinking through my loosening stitches, parting the fibres of a persian carpet - a thick, undulating, lugubrious forest canopy. i liquefy and gather beneath. a secret ocean beneath your pallid mantle. our little table of bones is brittle and transparent and we sit at it to eat a pear. sweet flesh of flower. i bite and you pick up a pairing knife and i pick stems off your plate and bury them in fronds. i am a god in yardage

[viscousfruit]

new pikupajku tights ⋆.𐙚 ̊

[viscousfruit]

i convince myself that i am more in love with the smell of rotting fruit on the sand than the straight edges of your teeth. they bite on my jaw and i taste the pulp of our flesh. stiff tongued, with juice dripping from my chin, i swam in a soup of pijamas and chocolate milk for five minutes.

[viscousfruit]

my mind is not going in circles but in those sinewy undulations of termite presence in dry desert bark. purposeful, arbitrary… they built an endless racetrack in a desolate valley. spectators hidden all around — i see beetle tracks in the sun-baked dirt. unknown blood on the rock. no scratch, but i know that you’re hurt.

[viscousfruit]

why cant someone just tell me what the right choice is for me

[viscousfruit]

[viscousfruit]

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ ໒꒰ྀི ˶> ˕ <˶꒱ྀི১ ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

[sad-house-of-mortality]

Diane - rain on the beach

[viscousfruit]

[viscousfruit]

nobody on the train knows i have avril lavigne’s first three albums on repeat full blast in my headphones but it’s okay i know something they don’t

[girltalk]

[pc98-rom]

[ejgto]

[viscousfruit]

i flew through the windows of my childhood home in an airbus. the turbulence was syrupy; a jar of honey was forgotten in the top shelf of the pantry. the wind was made of glass shards and the turbulence cut me into ribbons, so i made a bow out of myself to stick on a handmade christmas gift. we didn’t have money that year.

the breeze came in strange pulses, whispering, suspended in between the weight of the air and my alveoli. the lights flicker now. the carpet is gone and the windows are dusty. did this house kiss the life from our sleeping skin? can this breeze carry me home?

strange how it all looks so small now. the tables have changed shape. the paintings mock me and my old desk rots in a corner. this is home?

[viscousfruit]

i’m scared of growing. i dont want to be big. to feel. i dont want the stitches to fall apart and i dont want to unravel balls of yarn on the couch while forgetting your name.

“you, who was borne of my bone and sinew — i dont remember the song of your voice.”

the light slips through your fingertips and your skin is translucent now, so it illuminates your arthritis. the shadows cast by your fingers, like knitting needles, depict us in a penumbra of life the color of sickness. are you in there, still? has your network of flesh spread onto us so thin that all that remains is a film? are you like the algae stippling the rocks of our driveway? if only i could fix you forever with the drop of methylene blue that still lives on my highschool laptop.

who am i if not you, diluted?