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COSMIC LATTE

red room aesthetic 
"

i’ve written you twenty two goodbye poems,
they all start with “i’m sorry it had to end like this”

i imagine you naked, lying on white sheets that
smell of lemon and my wet hair draped like curtains
on pale shoulders, you say they smell like
pomegranates, i drink red wine and read you
my acceptance letter again, the one where the word
congratulation sounds like music, you say
i’ll change, meet new people who are far more
interesting than you, you say i’ll dye my soul darker,
i’ll stop saying hope is the only thing you need,
you’re afraid that if i leave you, i’ll never return,
i wash the dishes and swing my hips while you
play violin records you stole from your fathers shop,
you’ll say he’ll never notice but i know you ignore
the phone when he calls, i vacuum in the dark, i
make pecan pies in the dark, sometimes, when
things get really bad, i even shower in the dark,
the water doesn’t touch me, it burns my skin, creates
callouses in the empty pockets between my shoulder
blade, across my wrist, right below my ribcage, when
you ask me to buy you cigarettes while you’re filling
up the gas tank, i flirt with the cashier, i stick my
breasts out and he says i’m the most beautiful girl
he’s seen all day, i don’t pay for the cigarettes
and swallow his name so it ends up buried inside
the pit of my stomach just like the rest, when you
smoke them after we make love, you ask why i
haven’t left you yet, i say we should probably
send your sister flowers in the hospital again, i ask
about your new lawsuit, the one wear you’re accusing
an innocent man, “but jane” you say, “he’s not
innocent” i tell you that we need to buy more toilet
paper, i paint my nails red and wear pink lipstick,
on Tuesday’s you work late and i invite some waiter
from last week who left his number on the receipt, i
make him tell me about his problems then fuck
him on the marble kitchen counter where in two
hours we’ll be eating steak and fresh salad and
drinking vodka until it no longer tastes like acid, i’m
leaving you, i’ll say, you’re lying, you’ll reply, i know,
i say again and write another poem about how this is
goodbye

i’ve written you twenty three poems goodbye poems,
they all end with “i’m sorry it had to end like this”

"
—your eyes are crying licorice  (via irynka)

Alima Fofana 
photographed by Kasia Bielska 
manufactoriel:

Saint Louis, Sénégal 1980 by Bruno Barbey
sickpage:

derkleinekönigBerlin Parkstraße, 2013
k-a-t-i-e-:

Paris nightclub, 1985
Harry Gruyaert
untrustyou:

Leo Berne
canyouwhoopit:

Students at a party, 2005 by Martin Parr