i could play you like a pack of dolls, couldn’t i?

instead of an altar, a butcher’s table. instead of the nailed palms of christ, my father’s warm hand on my shoulder.

there are teeth marks on everything he loves.

TELL ME WHERE TO PUT THE ANGER.

someone has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story.

she. silent, fawn—eyed, clever.

did i live with you in a past life? was i your lifelong partner? is that why the idea of losing you torments me so much? how long have i been without you?

i love my sister more than anything in this life, i will put her happiness over mine every time.

my mind is filled with cataclysm and apocalypse. i wish for earthquakes, eruptions, flood.

your love is like walking a bed of nails.

i am still so naïve; i know pretty much what i like and dislike; but please, don’t ask me who i am. a passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?

you were born broken. that’s your birthright.

have you ever killed something good for you just to be certain that you’re the reason you can no longer have it?

god loves you, but not enough to save you.

and i think that’s what a father is——a blade that never stops cutting.

i’m a sucker for the love of the flesh, all things rancid and delicate.

a kiss is the beginning of cannibalism.

please, please, please, let me get what i want. lord know it would be the first time.

she loves me like a dog.

in the holy land of broken homes.