cy mba l s
2 021 : met hod a nd mad nes s
i rake a brush through my hair i know i’m not supposed to-i never, in the summer when it’s all curled vast, unfurled like rusted springs on a sea sprayed bed.
astrologically clingy by Reed Dillon, X: poetry
there’s a thingi think, about leo risings they look like lions. i think i can see it in my red hair, now dyed too many times, when the midnight rush takes hold layers, of drugstore diys, can see it in the way my eyebrows touch each side of my nose i draw them closer with pencils, with gels it closes my face. i recognize it when my nostrils flare.
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