spitball2288
sometimes she bites me. i like when she bites me, i like the marks of her being so obvious that they can be seen upon my skin. i like for people to know that i am hers, and that she is mine.
sometimes I get bitten. not in that stupid vampire obsession teeny bopper sense where girls fall all over, completely absorbed with idiotic hollywood stars. but i have been bitten, many a times. and when every time my mum notices, she yells and yells for about two minutes. i laugh and shrug it off. i can't help it if that's what others want to do to me in the moment. i like to be bitten, i like to bite.
there are old people, dressed like children acting young and free, rain boots and raincoats. there is rain outside and the puddles are collecting underneath the windowsill. they splash about and laugh and run. they play like they are young again, like they are free from the real world. nothing can stop them, the rain has given them their youth back.
Pins belong in pin cushions. Pins are like things that stitch us together and keep us from falling apart. They hold us into place, especially if we have not yet been stitched. Pins precede finality, in that they are the lay out for our make up but are subject to change when placed under the needle. Pins are pulled out when the stitches are sewn into place, making us unchangeable and forever one way...that is unless one has scissors and decides to cut the surface back open to re-do what's already been done. Also, pins hurt when you step on them and can get stuck in your skin. Ouch.