disappointment; the pretty girls with dripping peaches on their chins and cherry red that stains their cheeks and taints their lips are better and prettier than me. with a crown of lilac and thorn, a gentle caress of silk adorns her body which is tinted with moonlight. eyes of faded blue and flecked with all that glitters (is gold), lengthy, wavy tresses of strawberry blonde that tumble down her back like rolling hills. as i shudder and shake, i succumb to a state of roiling dysphoria beneath my skin. i begin to scream your name with every quaking little shard of my heart's desire. and i bleed as i piece the pieces of me back together. part poison flower and part thorn, i could be beautiful but my sharpness is scorning and not sanctified or sacred. if in my bloodstreams you could find ichor, don't you know that you would've been mine by now?
