"I watch French
films and only wear rose perfume. When my professor asks me to
write about murder, I always end up writing about your mouth. I
sleep with windows open and my lungs are becoming an orchestra
from all the pot I keep smoking. Your name has stained my teeth
and if I were to show you my liver it would be the color of
smoke. There is music breathing inside of my wrists and if I were
to show you my tongue you would find poetry growing on it like a
disease. There are seven billion people in this world. Half of
them are dying, and the other half don’t know even know
they’re alive. If you were to show me love I would confuse
it for eggshells.”
— eggshells and
asthma inhalers (via irynka)
