Audrey Hepburn photographed by Angus McBean
Home.
its the place that I’ve made mine, I exsist in the wet mouths of others, In the back of their eyes. And its the place that I am trying despriately to find. A place that is solid and firm a place that is mine. I have moved three times in the past year and I’m not sure if any of those places are even real to me. All of my things are packed in a unit the size of a small room and I bring with me only what I can fit in my compact car.
You.
You, you with your green eyes. You with your touching. You with your sad, sad smile. You, you that Ive tasted. You that I hold. You that I can not hold on to. You that I want to care for. You that I cant care for. You fucking you, that I cant fucking seem to get a grip on. Oh darling fuck you. You, who doesn’t see. You who doesn’t breathe. You with your bleeding heart, bleeding over me. You that I unwilling distract. You that can not distract me. You who has laid down. You who can’t leave what’s burned behind.
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