steady trembling twirl, collarbones cinged with pearls. Make a map to touch and trace, use your perfume to cover the death space, the cold spots that pick up pace. The concrete cellar stairs care and stare at the brick toned walls as if to play cello mellow masquerades. but it is the display of dinner table plates and no knives. our fingers are to cut and bruise. give me your neck so i can be the noose. 
at 1447586030000
- Reposted from DeadPoet918
