Cherry red lipstick and a hat to match. The emotions drift in and out and through me. My nipples pulse and ache, my breasts shudder with each breath. This dis-ease would have killed another, but I am not another, and so it is none of my business. My obligation is to me, to the Goddess, and G-d with Her. I am here now, and that’s all that matters. Manjushri’s sword resides in my flesh; where is your allegiance?
Markers bleed through and through and leave a taste upon the wind. Can you smell yourself? Touch your scent? What notes comprise it? And how do they layer together? The Guardian Angel of these days is a future self; a future self. He doesn’t think I’m resting enough, but he’s respecting the invisible boundary.
“There are laws,” he said, and it echoed from the other room, bounding and skipping through the spaces between.
