deathlycupcake

Peeking throught the hole. Kneeling on the floor. Cold toes, cold floor. White fingers touching the door. In between the cracks, I see, the world as it is. When the sun can touch your skin.

As the color of full milk, with a biscuit and strawberry's. Within the milk a rock, cracked open and showing his stones, shining with a thousand colors. It is sharp to my bloody fingers, the blood is your lips. With the emerald to whom I cut myself, as the eyes of a goddess