LavĂnia
plalace
- Feb 19, 2024
- 168
A shard splashes onto a train track, the memory of when I received a gift from my father lies there. On simple, cheap market paper, a label with my name, misspelled... my father gave me my name.
On the fender of a car lies the day my mother cried in my arms, saying I was everything to her. I tried not to press my chest too much against her arms; I had self-harmed before, and the blood still clung to my shirt.
Staining the wall in a blur lies the day I lit my first cigarette. When I laughed with emotion at realizing I had lost something important.
My brain, my matter, milky white, sneezes, blows, spreads, paints and sings everywhere. In different ways, it explodes, dies, here and there, without stopping. My head never stops exploding.
On the fender of a car lies the day my mother cried in my arms, saying I was everything to her. I tried not to press my chest too much against her arms; I had self-harmed before, and the blood still clung to my shirt.
Staining the wall in a blur lies the day I lit my first cigarette. When I laughed with emotion at realizing I had lost something important.
My brain, my matter, milky white, sneezes, blows, spreads, paints and sings everywhere. In different ways, it explodes, dies, here and there, without stopping. My head never stops exploding.
