Haiku of the Day
this world is too loud; all noise and colour and love. i want to feel numb.
I promise to hold “I love you’s” firmly between my teeth until the day you’ll read me stories from the scars on the tarred roads of your city, until you show me where they bled and where they are still bleeding so these words of affection caught in my throat may rise out of my mouth and into your lungs, like moth to flame.
bracelets like nooses
we started fading the night you pvh-glued our wrists to newspapers and paper-mached bracelets like nooses around the bases of our thumbs, didn’t your mother tell you the way to kill mockingbirds like us is to wrap resentment around our veins until we forget our wings never once stopped us from flying. you were all-consuming that night. sometimes, you still are.
it must end where it all began. in the basement of his mother’s house, two days before Christmas eve, when a red-breasted robin will make footprints in the snow. it must end here, on the couch where you sacrificed his virginity at the altar of your temple, when you cruficified his body and nailed his palms to your back; he told you he loved you that day and now you must tell him ...
have you ever sat wide awake at three in the fucking morning? if your house is half the bug-infested hole mine is, you’ll hear cockroaches, loud as fuck, scratching at the door, begging to be let in. and your heart is a fucking cockroach scratching at my ribcage, wanting to lodge itself between bone and tissue in my chest, begging to be let in and i know my skin will soon break and...
she will lay sideways, begin to trace her initials on the plains of his torso. he will grab her hand in his, whisper she should leave.
spilledandinked asked: I just want you to know that I see you bleeding. When you're writing poems other people won't read and when you're fighting your demons, I watch you slash your wrists until your words burn through or over the paper. Beautiful soul, never feel alone.
i was there. and by there i mean i was hanging on the outskirts, watching the wind toss you up so violently. there was a tornado in your lungs and it whirled you around and i prayed you would forgive me when this blows over. i was only trying to dance with one foot in my mouth.
I don’t know if you wonder who sees you when you spill the way you do. I know I get to questioning myself, the sun, the ground beneath my feet. Sometimes I ask, “if I didn’t think this was walking would I feel held up?” And I don’t know if you do that, wonder what the world has in some pocket you can’t peek into, if anyone is fogging up the window to you, but I figure you should know that I see...
My heart remembers you. You were bright city lights on most days, and on others you were a candle two inches from over with a flickering flame. I still taste you on my tongue sometimes; you dry my mouth like cinnamon and sawdust with your whitewashed ego clinging to my insides like an overdue poem. You are all that I’d ever needed; I am because of all that you have ever been.
Haiku of the Day
I wrote a letter shaped like your name in my palm. The ink still remains.
The night the wind swept old ashes at your front door, you held my hand and kissed me like snowflakes on tar before melting into the cracks between the potholes I loved you like the earth does the sun; knowing you would bring light then take it away. But I forgave you because you always came back to me. Eventually.
I don't want us to be another statistic, just more...
Anonymous asked: oh FUCK.. did someone post your pics on tumblrafterhours(.)com
Haiku of the Day
sip me like whiskey, slowly, deliberately. burn me down your throat.
The List Part Three
1. There are certain things I will always be afraid of; your mother’s eyes, the slamming of the front door, the stinging in my chest as you leave, the nudity of the night sky on a new moon, that’s when you see how obese the night time is as it swallows itself whole. I will keep my emotions inside my sock drawer, pull them out in the darkness and tuck them firmly beneath my...
He Says to Me "Eventually"
He has long popsicle fingers attached to his palms, the cave of his mouth a chasm for his stalagmite teeth; if you kiss him you’ll hear your name echo in the back of his throat, bounce off the walls of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth before screaming itself into the undertow. I tell him his body is a carnival where all the lights are out. I tell him I will sneak past his iron-gate arms...
I’ve been known to keep bullets in the front pockets of my heart just in case my sanity demands I kill us both before we burn to the ground.
I will teach you how to swirl your breath in your lungs as though it is incense...– For Amy
waterlogged. that’s what they called your bones as they lifted your body from the reeds in the swamp. they said your doors had jammed, you were a hopeless case. but between you and i, me with my too long fingers and too short sight and you with your hell bent path to self-destruction, we both know that’s how you wanted it. we both know that where you were going you knew you...
On Wanting to Play You
I have always wanted your bones and by bones, I mean teeth. I long to lay them out beside the fireplace and play all your favourite songs. In that moment, they will be my keys, your mouth, your mouth will be my piano and your body the stage where it all began.
Anonymous asked: Do you believe in soul mates?
I have breathed all the air out of my lungs trying to swallow you whole, I’m sorry all you ever got out of me was a girl too busy trying to clothe herself into a woman to ever even begin to want to you raw, nakedfaced. I hear she loves you like a lighthouse, uses her firefly wings to dance with your shadows and though her body has been ravaged by imperfections and sanded evenly...
the hypocrisy of need
there is an archway in the corridor. it reminds me of the way your curl your back, bend over backwards, dislocating the discs in your spine to aid those who need you. your arms are the two pillars keeping my sanity from collapsing. i just wonder; when your body is borderline lifeless, the weight of the world close to caving in, when your own head is heavy enough, who is holding you...