divine parasites.
@psychohazardous.bsky.social
cosmic
cosmic
Pinned
the ruins tower a graveyard of children. at its core is a small-handed plea to be spared deaths worse than death. childish bones are not suited to face the wrath of wars they played no part in; history's weight is no burden for their small shoulders.
i believe in more cosmic things than you can fathom
September 18, 2025 at 7:19 AM
i believe in more cosmic things than you can fathom
blood drips from the cradle of my hips
the curve of my lips
drip
drip
drip
the curve of my lips
drip
drip
drip
September 13, 2025 at 11:53 AM
blood drips from the cradle of my hips
the curve of my lips
drip
drip
drip
the curve of my lips
drip
drip
drip
a tired verse in some half-forgotten song.
September 4, 2025 at 12:38 PM
a tired verse in some half-forgotten song.
Reposted by divine parasites.
when i was 12, me and my friend jessie blew up the heart of god and plundered its treasures like piñata candy
August 28, 2025 at 7:41 AM
when i was 12, me and my friend jessie blew up the heart of god and plundered its treasures like piñata candy
the ruins, the ruins. they call to you
August 28, 2025 at 8:07 AM
the ruins, the ruins. they call to you
the ruins tower a graveyard of children. at its core is a small-handed plea to be spared deaths worse than death. childish bones are not suited to face the wrath of wars they played no part in; history's weight is no burden for their small shoulders.
July 29, 2025 at 12:57 AM
the ruins tower a graveyard of children. at its core is a small-handed plea to be spared deaths worse than death. childish bones are not suited to face the wrath of wars they played no part in; history's weight is no burden for their small shoulders.
they never tell you about history as it lies in your bed; as it gasps in the sheets, sweat-drenched and wanting. it is a ghost that lives alongside you.
October 30, 2024 at 7:55 PM
they never tell you about history as it lies in your bed; as it gasps in the sheets, sweat-drenched and wanting. it is a ghost that lives alongside you.
the contours of my spine escape me. lungfuls of pain spill into the hollow of my ribs and bloom. the ache of it, a skewed view of virtue. i am left behind in the wake of its flame and consumed by that which ails me. there is only what knows the grace of leaving in the aftermath.
October 21, 2024 at 10:18 PM
the contours of my spine escape me. lungfuls of pain spill into the hollow of my ribs and bloom. the ache of it, a skewed view of virtue. i am left behind in the wake of its flame and consumed by that which ails me. there is only what knows the grace of leaving in the aftermath.