praesarchive-deactivated2018010:

❛the tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me. even through the gift paper i could hear them breathe lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby. their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds. they are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down, upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color, a dozen red lead sinkers round my neck. nobody watched me before, now i am watched. the tulips turn to me, and the window behind me where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins, and I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips, and i have no face, i have wanted to efface myself. the vivid tulips eat my oxygen.❜