whisper-diary:

this is a sailor’s love -
drunken and uncontrollable,
swaying on the deck of an unstable
ship, sick from overexposure to
the airiness of its presence,
demanding and unfathomable
in its undying commitment and oh
so passionate for you, the sea.

onnothingandeverything:

tree
tops lean
          into the touch
of spring,
           breath
tickling tips,
            bursts
           of pink
blossoms lifted
        up on the breeze
float, swimming
in warm currents,
to slowly drift
down to stony beds,
a spread
      of soft pale sheets
to rest green
eyes.

(via onnothingandeverything-deactiva)

two people staring at the ceiling

brightlightsloudnoises:

it was dark
and
you kept
asking
why?
how?
what?

your voice next to me

you made me
kick through
years
and unbury
and
relearn

i woke up with you
in an otherwise
empty bed

and
you have brought
a strange
sun

this sentence.

blankslate:

what is, and what isn’t:

a cigarette
is a metaphor
for fleeting pleasure
life burning out
and so on

it is also just
a cigarette.

the moon is
used by writers
to symbolize mystery
beauty, and insanity

it is also just
a cold, empty rock.

a heart can be
love, life, a
conduit for burning
encompassed
passion

but is it not just
a blood-pumping
muscle?

they are both, and all
in tangent.

what is is not nothing.

what isn’t
comes after the
period at the
end of-

On likes

onpeople:

I don’t like you.

But you like me - and this is beyond me.

That’s why I respect you so much.

But I don’t like you - let me make this clear.

miquela:

When I can’t be with you
Let me be held by a hammock
In a clearing in the woods.
Let me be warmed by the sun’s rays, hot.
Let me be awakened by the light play in the canopy.
Let me shiver with a passing cloud, changing breeze;
Let me hear the symphony of branches.
Let me be embraced by nature
As I soak its elements into my being.
Let me be whole.

miquela:

When I can’t be with you

Let me be held by a hammock

In a clearing in the woods.

Let me be warmed by the sun’s rays, hot.

Let me be awakened by the light play in the canopy.

Let me shiver with a passing cloud, changing breeze;

Let me hear the symphony of branches.

Let me be embraced by nature

As I soak its elements into my being.

Let me be whole.

Ritual

astronautssleepinspace:

(NaPoWriMo 15/30)

Hot. Cold. Hot. More hot.
I adjust the shower-water,
wait for perfection to commit
my body to the ritual.

Squeeze. Lather. I run
my fingers along my shin.
It is the cartography of scars
and bruises. The results of poverty.

Glory be to the holy tailbone,
the base of the lightning rod
that keeps my lucky numbers
in her sacred memory. Without this

I am a body, sopping.
Standing on cold bathroom tile
waiting for the grease in my hair
to give me reason to worship.
 

(via brasssnuggles-deactivated201306)

imanaboat:

cigarette dreams drenched in caffeine

wash your hands clean

of pixie dust, wipe ‘em on your jeans.

alice took a little wonderland,

lost her clock through a rabbit hole

and woke up covered in

blood.

puck up the razor, pink slime drips

a shade or two similar from

the pool above her lips.

lay there numb feeling

nothing but fucked, sorry mom.

------writer/25/chicago,il.


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