No Socks
no socks
are allowed in the red-room
no pretty pink flowers
are allowed
at the woods at night
More Posts from Ms711us and Others
it was nearly 4 am as red light streamed out the bar, sifting through drunk legs. it was closing time, even in new york city.
“let me take you home,” he asked; breath smelling more metallic than his eyebrow piercing.
she smiled into his swirling eyes,
and she was never seen again.
- myra
dear mr sandman… …
🪦🥀📽
the sweet scent of cigarettes and semen on your lips
reminds me of the end of the world and i love it 🤍
~~
it’s three-thirty in the morning, that’s a bad time to talk about should-haves and would-haves - needful things
there are no exits where you’re going
paris, france 🥀
« ainsi va le monde. ce n’est pas am faute »
« we all had some coffee. after that i don’t know any more. the night passed. » - the stranger
ohh she’s pretty with the sunset in her hair
new york, new york
grand central smelt of pennies, ticket stubs, and desperation at 5:15 am.
"where're you headed?" the worker asked.
where was he headed? he didn’t realize leaving meant going away. but to go far enough to be folded into memory or far enough to be followed? would his wife search for him?
"connecticut.”
no comment; the worker printed a slip and took his money mechanically.
he needed a congratulations, deserved one for his decision. but who would congratulate a man abandoning his wife?
xxii | she/her | psychology & creative writing | desperately searching for meaning in the mundane
33 posts