So what if right now everything’s wrong?

Daria from Kittenhood asked me to do a guest post for her blog and I decided to do a special outfit post to go along with her cool-the movies-I-watch-like pictures. She was kind enough to allow me to post the pictures here as well. I was deeply touched and inspired by the Fall/Winter 2013 Miu…

The Little Boy Lost

Father, father, where are you going        O do not walk so fast. Speak father, speak to your little boy        Or else I shall be lost, The night was dark no father was there        The child was wet with dew. The mire was deep, & the child did weep        And away the…

Deathly

No one’s got that much ego to spend. I spend my money on cigarettes and vodka and birth control pills, On skirts and shoes and hats And silky gowns – just to please them. I smile and trip and fall, Get up, cry a little, Talk a little, fly a little. I play such a…

This will never end ’cause I want more

    I never said it would ever be enough. I never said I weren’t sometimes sorry, but not today, not anymore. I never said I wouldn’t dance if the music were clear enough to make me mad, if my hands were cold, my eyes blurry, my breath, my heart racing to a destination that…

Who the fuck?

Bashed spit comb fuck you. Bashed don’t I me always free. One death year bruised. Messenger never spine pathetic. Cry fear rags lost. Bones blunt whore. Loser hateful no regrets. Hurt birthday never enough. Thankful bloody burden. photos by Matilda Marin from Superficial Sighs http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxcCN6BgO_k

Her life was elsewhere

Do you remember when Marilyn Monroe died? Everybody stopped work, and you could see all that day the same expressions on their faces, the same thought: “How can a girl with success, fame, youth, money, beauty . . . how could she kill herself?” Nobody could understand it because those are the things that everybody…

A whore is when it does not sore

Womb, never tomb, thumbs against thumbs, sore. My eyes, my eye-lashes, they sparkle. Look into the mirror, my chest is made of a thousand gold-reflecting mirrors. I smile crookedly, close your left eye, spread the mascara with its premonitory blackness. My cheeks – pink – they hide a fundamental paleness. Sit still, don’t spill the…