Stillbirth. 04 — Murder Tramp Birthday

Every time I knock on the night sky, another star detaches and falls to my feet I’m on my hands and knees, thin slivers of my dream leaving me trough my mouth spit, rinse and repeat It is hurting now mother, tragedies unbirthed make poor stories in the end A lot like Frida, I […]

via Stillbirth. 04 — Murder Tramp Birthday

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.