there are flowers
in this world
that only grow
once the ground
above them burns.

you were that fire.

this is not my end.
this is my birth.
—Pavana पवन

Private & Selective DA: I OC blog

Lelaros, a Red Jenny

#burningarrcws


Written by Krissy

est November 2015

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Anonymous said: The bibacious, bumptious aesthete was akimbo, phalanges of one appendage gripped tightly to opalescent pool of drink. With jocund hauteur, sonorous timbre enacted tête-à-tête betwixt neighbor & self; though companion's physicality was near corpulent and meretricious, still--they enkindled speaker. glass held forth in offering, "Color me cogswaggled, but thy pavonine appearance remains meritorious to point where urge to curvet whilst offering thee approbation is overwhelming!"
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         “Cogswaggled? The fuck are you goin’ on about?”

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