666

I want to write poems on your skin with my lips.

The feminine urge to become a man's walking nightmare

You’re the most precious piece of me

On my knees like you're my religion

Come join the coven

I became the ghost I was afraid of.

Not every shadow wants to be found.

I don't want a love that feels safe all the time. I want the kind that haunts you gently. The kind that stays in your perfume, in your favorite song, in the empty side of your bed— long after the person is gone.

Everyone else gets jealous, meanwhile I just want the whole world to love her, so she can always feel loved and never, ever think she’s unlovable.

Sandwich

when the “damn she really loves meeeeee” hits >>>

Wrap your legs around me and we’ll talk about it.

She deserves the world