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Nephthys Dress by Shadow Fae, 2004 collection

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(x)

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Fetish Ball 2001

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𓆩♱𓆪

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this morning i found a solution to the purpose sized hole in my chest that religion once filled in trees. i realized that the only reason i’m alive is because i am breathing. and the only reason i breathe is because of trees. i do not need to worship them or be pure for them to give me life. i never had to. i don’t think it’s because the trees care about me, or humans at all. they will always release oxygen with or without us. i think if i had a tree in my home, and i watered it, and breathed its air it would quell my existential worries. at the end of the day, the tree is all there is. there is nothing if there are no trees because there is no breath and without breath there is no life. i don’t even fear death anymore because i will be buried under the trees and then become breath for whatever roams with a heart.

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Just saw Pierce the Veil and Sleeping with Sirens at the age of 24… middle school me might have a mental breakdown

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which of you has the ability to sew vagueness into sensibility? and distinctly, to be poetic, and absolutely not the poet? which of you can be vapor, emerging from the mouth like breath from waters of a misty sweet lake, into a harmonic foggy meadow and only add to its beauty? which of you should love me? should take my latest and invariably regretful shed cocoon from another deathly slumber and rebirth in a series of a dozen just in the past hour, and turn it to silk? i am a fickle being and worst of all in denial of it, driven by my arresting embarrassment. a humility that no one is expecting of me, and yet it is my oldest reflex. which of you, should love me now? should because you must, to be the kind who can take my rot and make incense from its mulch, and see the world just as transformatively. have you heard me and truly listened to this, the completion of my every desire? if you have, then may my words kiss softly against your ears, and the rhythm of my delicately wavering breath inside it be in concert with your heartbeat. and will you declare “me, and myself alone!” as i ask, “which of you will answer: “yet i bathe in it.” when i say: “i am the moon, this light is not mine”?

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+rose+mortem+

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2006

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2011

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this summer i’m going to get so tan that i overdose on vitamin D and i look like a cup of rosy hot chocolate

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The crypt beneath the Church of the Nativity of Our Lord, Loreta, Prague. > Photos by P. Zuchnický.

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PMDD is a form of torture the CIA couldn’t replicate with their most sadistic agents