thefuckno
Every significant moment in your life is inked on your skin in the form of flowers.
A first kiss, a perfect day, a favorite memory, a wedding, the birth of a child, and of course, the death of a loved one.
The flowers first appear on your ribs, traveling up your side and across your chest, spreading to your neck and down across your back and if you are lucky, enough bloom to cover your arms and legs.
By the time you are old, your skin is covered in lovely flowers and leaves and trailing vines, like tattoos that tell your life story, and the more intricate the blooms, the luckier you are.
But then, some people have thorns winding through their flowers, black slashing through the colors.
These are the people to avoid, the worst people, the people whose souls are so stained with their misdeeds, that it spills out onto their skin for the world to see.
These are the people doomed to be alone.