Untitled B (Live)

consola

You call me late, your voice on the phone
Dripping lies, but I still let you in my home
Trace your name on my thigh, like it’s holy scripture
You want my body, not my heart in the picture

But I’d paint my skin in shades of you
Let you carve your truths in every bruise
Even when you push, I pull in tight
I like to hurt if it keeps you in my sight

Kiss me wrong, I’ll make it feel like right
Bleeding love tasting like cherry bite
I’m your shadow, clinging in the night
Even if you never call me mine
Still, I’d break my bones to fit your mold
Trade my warmth just to feel your cold
Even when you leave, I’ll wait outside
Love me or just use me, I'll never hide

holy bruise

to convict the self

linens soaked in noreprinephrine

The Scenery of the Apocalypse

No Wave! No Future! No Gods!

The Heretic, & The Conqueror (525)

The Weather Was as It Always Had Been, Neither Warm nor Cold, Neither Sunny nor Rainy, Just a Dull, Dead Day, Like Any Other

September 29, 1994 — at night after praying over hundreds of people individually for hours.

Unfathomed

soundcloud:tracks:2051278264

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Ava, From Deepest Fathoms

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