𝓜𝔢ร𝕊Ў Ꮆ𝔦ŘĻ

I cannot make decisions and my skin is reflecting how gross it is on my insides. Jesus used to live inside me and left the place a mess. How filthy is the woman who cannot pick up after herself or make up her mind. She feeds herself steak and cooked peaches, she plates it and waits to partake til she deserves it. The first time a woman ate something she did not deserve she started bleeding from in between her legs. We ruined mankind, the least we can do is leave our legs open for them. With matted hair and a bruised left collarbone; for most are right handed and lean on her for all support; she then takes a seat and a fork. While she was out, the flies seemed to have forgotten courtesy and dug in before she sat down. She figures they enjoyed it more than she would have anyway, for everything tasted bland and unsatisfying to her these days. She invites them to stay or let themselves out when they have finished up, to find them gone when she woke up. She once again wishes she did not give the option to leave, but that always felt a bit inhospitable. For when they are looking for a nurturer, she hopes they think of her less and less. They smell it all over her and her cloth seats. She told herself she would never drive anyone around the same block again. But, no one wants a messy girl who cannot take care of them, or even worse herself.

Presley Rae Emig is a Los Angeles based writer, known for her screen writing, songwriting, poetry, and essays. Presley grew up in Riverside California then moved to Los Angeles at the end of her teenage years. She explores themes of bluntness, filth, and godliness. She ventures through mundane territory and lavish lands alike. Her screenwriting debut Carrot Farmer premiered just last year and scared prudes everywhere, and is forecasted to do just that all life long.