I’m a fountain of blood
In the shape of a girl
You’re the bird on the brim
Hypnotised by the Whirl
I am not sure who is taking my pictures anymore. Sometimes you just can’t focus, no matter how hard you try. I haven’t got a face yet, it still has to be properly reshaped.
I haven’t got an urge for clarity just yet, no, this dress fits me so well that it hurts to breathe in it.
Light reflects everything I have been trying to hide in the shadows. My body goes back to almost two years ago when home meant everywhere I’d go, not just a place where I keep my clothes in order. I was scared of breaking down a fortress I willingly locked myself in. Now I sit quietly and wait for my life to peel off, like the driest skin. The new one is pale pink. When touched right away it hurts. When caressed, it shivers.
photos by Ionut Sterpan