|Current Residence: Australia|
BECOMING OPHELIABECOMING OPHELIA by littleredelf
"I like black lace...
yet i wear cowboy boots..
so the answer is..
i'm a Goth girl
with Western roots."
~ some dark, heady girl
with good skin . . .
There is no sound that can swallow this.
There is no music to qualm the insides.
There is only the rush of the water, the solid deafness.
Heavy. Like snow. Like skin, like perpetually cold hands.
And against it, red. Lip liner. Ruby glow against swarth. Eyeliner.
Against dark water. Elemental water. Maternal water, holy water, violent water . . .
She has waters to swim - to wade through, to sleep in. Media-saturated, "girl-poisoning" waters of culture. But she is not delicate. Blossoms are broken things. And she breaks things. Into small pieces, into pieces she can see. Herself in smaller pieces. Wishing to be smaller.
"I fuckin' break horses. And i still am big. And fuck fashion. Wranglers are my fashion in the day light. And wranglers are stranglers."
This is not the