How sweet terror is, not a single line, or a ray of morning sunlight fails to contain the sweetness of anguish.
ยท
How sweet terror is, not a single line, or a ray of morning sunlight fails to contain the sweetness of anguish.
“There is a black place inside me. It can be reached and perhaps it can consume. But it is not a hive. The black place inside me is mine. I found that it could be filled of architecture and light, water and ancestor, o, things that make me bow-to.”
Lisa Marie Basile | Nympholepsy