|time goes against us, and death is always near.|
blossomsShe always has bruises somewhere on her body. Always has had.blossoms by tickingXxXbomb
Her legs, stick thin, white as milk with those knobbly knees, have been full of them since she was but a young child; her legs, but then also her back, her ribs, her arms. Once, even her face.
Justified by her clumsiness and…other things.
She presses first her fingertips, then her nails to one particularly large one and feels the pain ripple out from it. Like blossoms they are, purple blue and soft, blurred edges.
They remind her of pansies.
It would be more beautiful, she muses mournfully, if they didn’t turn darkened yellow and brown.
Life is ugly, sallow and yellow-green enough.
The bruises it gives her, at least, should be beautiful.
"And they draped her body in midnight|
And they called her daughter of the moon."
deviantWEAR sizing preference: XS
Favourite genre of music: Darkwave, Rock, Metal, Goth, Industrial
Favourite style of art: Comic, Expressionism, Surrealism, black and white photography, pencil sketches, Renaissance pen & ink drawings...
Personal Quote: "The predator does not ask the prey first if he is ready to die. As wolves, we do not wonder if the sheep deserve their death; we wonder who next will fill our bellies."