DND

9pm in NYC.

crusted snow grabs the curb around a car that’s making me angry. Enoch told me to stab at my future. What a violent thought for a soft girl.

Art.me fills my dreams, gives me might, slight anger—I realize I care for no one and nothing. Maybe that’s why God’s holding me back. Survival mode is a hell of a bitch, it kicks out everything.

Changing my ways.

I’m big. Like cells full of fame. & until it happens I’m forever in pain. The goal is to marry royalty. Dibble and dabble in love for now—we’ll go as far as you take it.

Scary whenever I close my eyes at night. Minding the edges of my mind that want to corrupt a scull of flowers. My life is far less violent than the trauma that eats at my brain, but this, I am grateful for.

Flashing lights on my naked, sweated skin. Blue garments cover the privates of the parts. Cutted thews explain my discipline, my passion. The dream is the performance. Speak a word, move a body—move a body, catch a soul.

xx