bruises cw


The Abalone Funeral Dirge: A fanfiction epic about the steadily accumulating pressure on the hormones of an emotionally dysfunctional middle-schooler

(if you’re not willing to expend an entire day of effort on a polished 3-page shitpost at the expense of your protagonists then are you REALLY fulfilling yourself as an artist??????)


-Of all the dumb things I’ve seen in my life, you getting that guy to beat on you takes the cake.
-You’re welcome.

i’ve always tried to paint bruises as flowers with words, but i’m realizing that the marks all those fuckers left on me were not beautiful. they were not as soft as petals. they weren’t pretty colors. they were yellowed & a sickly blue; they were too dark & they hurt to look at.

so, no, bruises are not flowers.

flowers come from love bites, consent to suckle on skin & leave warm hickeys. those are lovely. those are soft shades, even when they look harsh & brilliant. those are flowers.

abuse isn’t a garden.

—  my metaphors for bruises have been fundamentally wrong