“Mother of otherness
Eat me.”— Sylvia Plath, from Selected Poems; “Who,”
(via violentwavesofemotion)
Category: Uncategorized
Death comes to all of us, sometimes in the darkest of garments, sometimes in celebratory red.
The Victorian Book of the Dead
She sucked the blood; she said she’d drain my heart—
Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (via goxteia)
me, hitting a grown man’s arm: meat
me, holding a baby: meat
me, staring long into my own eyes in the mirror and touching my face with growing sense of awe and horror: meat
“drink me, i’m poison,”
she said with a grin.
Leilah Ali (via wnq-writers)
churchyardgrim 