Hush, remember August.
Though the northwest has never been home to the fireflies, I do believe our glowing deities gave us their blessing that night; the light that births worlds, birthed incomprehensible feelings inside.
... Or at least inside of me.
Our system's summer star, forged by those same fireflies, bleached our unkempt, sea-spray curled hair to a blond near white. Hay-stack dry from being carelessly air-dried, the pale crowns we'd failed to grow out clung to our sweaty necks.
Though the northwest has never been home to the fireflies, I do believe our glowing deities gave us their blessing that night; the light that births worlds, birthed incomprehensible feelings inside.
... Or at least inside of me.
Our system's summer star, forged by those same fireflies, bleached our unkempt, sea-spray curled hair to a blond near white. Hay-stack dry from being carelessly air-dried, the pale crowns we'd failed to grow out clung to our sweaty necks.
Here now, I cut out pieces of my mourning veil, make paper dolls of black Chantilly lace. I string them up inside my rib-cage; they complement the elephant ivory tusk bones that failed to protect the contents of my chest.
The gods made us all too fragile, and I see now we were not blessed, that August, but I was cursed! FUCK!
Now you lay in your casket all gold, gold, the fireflies forsook us, I am what's left.
The gods made us all too fragile, and I see now we were not blessed, that August, but I was cursed! FUCK!
Now you lay in your casket all gold, gold, the fireflies forsook us, I am what's left.
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