me going into hibernation when it's time to recharge my social battery
I don’t need anymore surface level nonsense. I like everything deep. My conversations, my sex, my love.
“i have misplaced my mouth. i don’t know what is being asked of me. i wish i could find a coffin that fits. my body: a field of poppies, blistering red and of course, named untouchable for that.”
— Silas Denver Melvin, from Grit: Poems; “Rejection of the idea that you’re made special on grounds of endangerment” (via feral-ballad)
