p h a n e s
responsible for the creation of the earth, world, and universe
MY MOTHER TOLD ME THAT I HAD LIPS DESTINED TO WEAVE RUBY LIES. I tried to burn those images in the back of my mind, but somehow, they burned themselves into my head like media on a CD. Catastrophe bloomed between my ribs, and as long as I would breathe, it would metastasise and grow, curl around the folds of my skin. I was told to play to win. So I did. To have the world at your fingertips, you need to either burn your hand, or the world itself. Nobody told me that we made the rules only to hide from them, that our brittle backbones weren't enough to carry the weight of this world, that nobody was forever a saint.
That nobody mourns for a sinner. But, they all weep for a god.
