Art by Iris Obscura
leaves ferment in rain,
centipedes stitch through the pulp,
roots cradle my bones.
About the Creator
Iris Obscura
I am many women. I am Iris.
Polite, sane, restrained? No. None of that.
Entropy at 3 am. Dead things stirring in your mind’s eye. Raking through your inner beauty to find something it hasn’t prettied up.
Maybe those.
Sometimes tender.
Read on.
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