TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
Nights like tonight inspire bad habits. Give me gold plates piled high with cigarettes, to burn hours into ashes. Give me consecutive lone nights, scrawling on the mysteriously smeared pages of notebooks as I pull long draughts from a bottle of single-malt whiskey at my desk lit by a pyre of candles. Give me midnight cycles by the raging sea, salt on my cheeks and lips, panting further and further into darkness.