i gave a boy a lavender sprig and he returned me with a kiss. ©achillics

harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking anyway. this collection shall be under the tutelage of sylvia plath's poems, and the bell jar and her lovely tortured head, in which i see something quite like mine. i hope it is enough in the end. do tell me if you've seen them. with love eleanor

shoved a needle in my brain and now my head won't stop bleeding

give me a linen kiss show me how to remember the tenderness of your skin Copyright-© all right reserved cammila 2018

𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬; 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐝

careworn and smiling with a crooked grin, adoration slept in the wrinkles beside his eyes as he observed the mosaic beauty. she held his callused palm in hers and whispered to the moon; "tonight, we're monsters." romanticism isn't always beautiful.

amerika's trial (and her metamorphosis)