kenshi
he's coated, dripping and drenched. drowning in sorrows, filling the lake even more with each bottle of beer.
he's coated, dripping and drenched, and the dizzy feeling in his head is a friend, comforting and lulling him to sleep.
traditions are like ropes that suspend from the sky. i am wrapped in silk qipao, smothered, and my hands are splattered with calligraphy ink, long black hair twisted and wrapped, like a sobbing mother's hands around an unwanted newborn girl. the traditional ways were meant to stay, but the people who follow them are not.