femme-otter:

It was hot. A cigarette butt cartwheeled out the window of a red and rusted Camaro, almost rolled into the tall dry grass on the side of the road. She sneered, scanning the horizon and the gaudy houses lining the steep-banked hills.

A wildfire started by a lit cigarette had consumed at least twenty acres of land near there the week before. Hundreds of people had been evacuated from their homes. She’d been there, the flames reflected in her dark glasses. She had smiled then, showing her sharp canines that were so often hidden behind dry, cracked lips.

Your chest is empty except for the constant burning rage, heavy and hot as a dying star trapped in your ribcage. It forces you to cleanse by destruction, to raze all in your path so that they can rise again, vulnerable and soft and new. You are nothing but the vessel for this flame, the bottle for this molotov cocktail. More fragile than you seem.

She lit another. Watched the smoke drift toward those ugly houses.

This time, she didn’t miss.

I’m watching say yes to the dress and this girl came in wanting a sexy dress and then her mother said she wanted her daughter to have a more conservative dress bc it was a Catholic wedding in a church and she “DIDN’T WANT THE DRESS TO MAKE GOD CRY”

As lovely as the piña colada smell is I rly hope my lube doesn’t burst and get over everything