We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like - Collection of Tintypes
ArielEgilsdottir
We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like
cauliflowers. The bomb opens like a shoebox. And the child? The child is certainly not yawning. And the woman? The woman is bathing her heart. It has been torn out of her and as a last act⥬
Album: Collection of Tintypes
Data: 6 noiembrie 2024

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LΔMIΔ, a palpitating snake, Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake. She was a gordian shape of
I‛ll get revenge Pour bleach on your head, and now you‛re dead Disinfect, so hold your breath
We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like
she is rinsing it off in the river. This is the death market. America, where are your credentials?
The Awakening of ″La femme rompue″,



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