Ephemeral Grace
The silk, a whisper against skin that’s known too many harsh
Vogue Assassin
Gilded Cages & Salt Air
The salt spray tasted like freedom, a fleeting luxury I rarely allowed
The Gilded Cage of Porcelain Skin
The silk, a glacial touch against skin accustomed to colder things. Another
The Gilded Cage of Comfort
They say cashmere is a weakness, a surrender to softness in a
The Gilded Cage of Porcelain Skin
The chipped porcelain of this vase, a relic from my grandmother’s
Concrete Bloom
The chipped paint and spray can residue are the truest form of
The Gaze & The Grain
The chipped paint on the fire escape mirrors the fraying edges of
Chrome & Dust
The rain smelled of exhaust and something faintly metallic. It clung to
