i’ll only be truly happy once i physically fight my father (it could fix me)

She said: “I'm not totally mad at you. I'm just sad. You're all locked up in that little world of yours, and when I try knocking on the door, you just sort of look up for a second and go right back inside.”

she traces road maps of blue veins on my skin, talks about how hungry i make her, that she’d eat me if she could. i wordlessly offer her my arm. go ahead. she gives it only a soft-mouthed bite, but i would probably let her tear me apart, i’d let her do anything.

girls get really good at making a dead thing look alive and girls get even better at making dying look beautiful
you can cover your body in flowers and lace but dead is dead and animals will always smell it

all flesh rots

oh, and you rip my ribcage open and devour what's truly yours

can any fragrantica app bitches point me to perfumes that first hit you with that divine sacramental bread vibe but once someone gets too close the eucharist turns sour rancid and tastes of heresy instead? okay thanks bye!