Untitled (warning: death, trauma response)
Dead horse, what have you done?
Traumatized into complacency,
Sat down,
Allowed to continue the charade.
Bloated carcass,
Needing to decompose
To nurture something—someone—anew.
Lover
Melt your fingertips into my skin,
Honey dripping between limbs.
Ebony hands gripping porcelain hips,
Obsidian and howlite,
Evening and starlight,
Melt me with your tender kiss.
Oh, lover,
Sweet embrace among silken cloth,
Hovering like a moth
To your flame, under our covers.
Warm Sheets
Sidereal pain,
Sanguine eyes,
Long langue.
Frosted violet hands
On your ignited, beating chest,
Resuscitating me one reassurance at a time.
“Eclipse,” acrylic & oil on stretched canvas, 2024
Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints
"these flowers suit your hair so well"
moodboard: autistic bi nb man rupert giles
[Requesting text ID]
If you step carefully, the woods will still chatter and whisper about your presence. A maple may brush your hair with a long, skinny arm. Dry yarrow stalks will claw at your clothes; you may need a sewing kit.
Trick or treat :3
“Rules of Cats” by Elise Bainbridge (photo taken at Frist Art Museum 9-21-24)
The aforementioned @jonnywaistcoat post ⬇️
Untitled (warning: gore, war)
Metallic petrichor grows into my lungs
As reverse-aged wine flows into a blood sea.
Trauma stains the Earth,
Unresolved cruelty bleeding
Into the forest floor.
The moss cannot process fast enough,
Becoming a crimson-dyed carpet,
Sponging out vermillion blood.