Jessy Savage
Bio
I have a passion for violating words and disregarding grammar. I make stuff up. I embellish tiny details, and I remember viciously. I would do anything for a good story, perhaps this is my downfall.
jessy[at]jessysavage.com
Stories (5/0)
Messiah.
All I can see is peonies. Tattooed in the backs of my eyes, batting wonders. They're ... crushed, to taste. Sublingual teas dancing on my tongue. They're between my toes and underneath my nails. I can feel them on the tips of my fingers. On my walls, hanging from my bed - painted peonies. In black and white and every shade of purple and pink. I want to know their scent ingrained into my skin. I want my pores to fucking soak out peonies into the sheets while I sleep. I want to know those flowers intimately and thoroughly, and to let them deflower me.
By Jessy Savage2 years ago in Fiction
Costa Nostra.
In the light she was solidified marble with a demure and contagious sneer, looking down on you, clutching her guarded rosary. Her eyes were too shielded to yield any discernible secrets, or fortunes. Her bare feet barely peeked through, carved as an afterthought, carved as a necessity - abysmal holiness cannot be captured in earthly stone. We weigh more than the sum of our sins.
By Jessy Savage2 years ago in Poets
Reliquary of Medical Waste.
What do you suppose they do with all of those barrels of medical waste? Fat, blood, tissue, parts of organs and glands deemed imperfect, medicine-laden fleshes, clumps of hair, tumors, and every stage of aborted babies up to twenty weeks' gestation. Leftover placenta. Afterbirth and stem cells.
By Jessy Savage2 years ago in Filthy
