a tate photostory #1
I just think about all the men I’ve dated, and they all just couldn’t amount up to him.
I remember when I saw him under that light, back home in Louisiana. He was the most beautiful thing and couldn’t help but stare at me too.
The image of trees splattered through the morning mist was the last good memory I had that next day.
He left me just like that. I gave him my soul and my womanhood after only a mere few seconds.
I gave him all night. I worshiped him. He worshiped me.
Blood came to mind.
I got some red roses, and dipped them in an oil can.
My red roses became black, like my heart.
Black heart, you still own me.