blush max 💘 divine findom

fortunate fool, frustrated freak. i sink my head below water just to scream. so essence softened, sur la stolen sorrow. sad sick sedentary, sultry scum stove, some delight in diction so deep. spouse sadistic, skilled in sound. but would he ever , so to speak. so to speak. so to s

fear not, fortunate fools. my absence is like bunnies in heat. consummate a whole lot under the sun, belle to fruition at my feet.

heaven-sent to sustain the healers with something fruit-flustered and bubbly, something so kind, so ardent, so heartfelt. something scattered, something sweet. so something to keep.

cherry cigarette daydreams. blood orange, black cat on the floor. nails are always bare and short, and i crush sweet candy between my teeth. darken all of my freckles, and my kind remains sweet like cinnamon.

pink collection of clovers, core chastity, creativity, celibate of the soul, seer of the soaring sun-kissed, sided with the goddess.

his hair is pink and haunted like a house

i’ll give birth to your curious cats, kiss the bloodhound, cut the carpet. 🐇

kindly come again, i’m star-shot, moon-plucked, i’m so ill-impaired. vogue cover my ears, my eyes, my ….

he has another cold one, her hot heckle hole hue, her horned hostile husband.

heal hither, her collided castle. his hell-bent hero hunt had his head all over her hints, hath her heels held mayhem. hath they haggled her home.

a big pill, sugarcoat, and clicked heels, there is no place like the strip club.

you look like you could pull jewel-toned jupiter clean out of your pocket.

fall to my knees in the middle of prada, bore me to tears in my thrift store special.

jealousy is pouring a hundred dollar bottle of champagne down the drain. put it in rosé coloured glasses, *clink*, mirrors, tears, sheer skirts and lace.

dirty laundry is like a love letter, old clothes and the lingering smell of what i would do without you.

may your neighbour smoke vanilla-night baked goods and paint their front door glitter pink, of course.

delighted payangel, you know your highest power is denied and dormant without those to bestow it upon.

die, money, die. be sweet born again.

whispers pray tell that the real goddesses and god-like creatures are deep-dive dipping their toes into my honey pot. emerge from the roaring sea of delusion, dear doom-scryer.

money is for creating heaven in my home.