Parents are our roots, if we stem from filth, it will show in the shimmering of our gorgeous leaves.

Another imitation thanksgiving, forged in memory. Breaking bread. yet i find myself already full with Catholic culpability, forever reigning thick in the air. they may label me a Denier, a sinner, but even still, i proudly denounce the Existence of a god created through Fiction, labeled as love, Granted solely on arbitrary allocation.….

Reopen my wounds, slip your fingers inside the hollows of crimson and force the hurt out…Slow and agonizing, yet orgasmic urges grow stronger through the pain—flashes of red flow down the curves of my body sparking the delight of punishment inside me. Hold my hands. Love me until my flesh has turned raw…