CURSE CLUB
Boy meets magic. Boy meets death.
stitching storms into lovers' thighs (poetry #1 / prose #1 - 061120) © VANGOHS, 2017
we shared pills and basked in their thrill. we howled at the moon and refused to walk in the daylight. we ran away from the world, vowing never to return. we were in love. we were diseased, disillusioned, dying. we thought we were free. we were lost.