and her winks cut through me like a Ginsu

click for full-size. in her youth she made tons of pence ghost-penning songs for big hair aristocrats. now she lies in a plush, velvet bed, shaped like a coffin and filled with bats. and she is pale and i am smitten and in the moonlight we both still like the smell of anything night blooming, and she bites through the necks like ginsu: my sweet, sweet heartkiller. read more