darknesswhore

We will hide in rooms of corpses in clear coffins; our names carved into every surface, our fortunes told in fish eyes and sharks’ teeth. We are frogs in formaldehyde, puffed up like tear-stained faces, motel pillows; we are jellyfish in jars, hanging like bleached willows; tangled tentacles dangle, flaccid, and spectres of the Pacific will not stir us. In the mother-of-pearl, in the birds of paradise, in the ribcages and tortoiseshells, we linger, petrified, and do not hope to be unearthed. Now we stand like stick figures pinned to twilight as orange and blue hesitate in the sky; starlings swarm across the stuttere