#fake blood tw

every time i drive through the city where you’re from i squeeze a little

Dear, I no longer strike

matches on your walls. Dear, it had to end. I remember

the sickness like a concrete block, anchored and dull,

something built for stumbling. No fire, no fire

could blow it up.

— “Dear,” by Monika Zobel

MAKE US IT MAKE US HIP MAKE A SCENE!!

Satan is a Woman