Tiny Emeralds

The hornets’ nest is restless like my hands against your dress are just as buzzing bad and fretless as a newly polished edge – we want attention and then questioning to merit our suspension of disbelief that skeletons could ever want another to lay over. When it’s colder all the hornets go to sleep they stop buzzing they stop biting they start having little dreams about vacations they’re not taking about photos they’re not making funny faces for and waking is the worst part of my day because it means I have to live and do things I don’t want to do like smoke a pack and spew and hack up tiny emeralds in the sink.

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~ by perfectionatrix on September 12, 2012.

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