"Please stay with me – I want to die in your arms.
You were all lies wrapped up in grace and charm.
I don’t love you, but, Jesus, I could try,
couldn’t I?
Even though I think there’s mold
growing on your heart, black and cold,
there’s still time for words to bloom –
I have torn myself to pieces over you.
And your name is a scar, bloodless and dry.
It wouldn’t have been if you only fucking tried.
And I know it’s the veins that tie our wrists together,
because your mouth is a black hole I never wanted to weather.
Even when your death sounds like gunshots
I sit soft, I sit still, I let the poetry rot.
As if love is something you ever wanted from me.
As if love is something you ever wanted to see.
Keep your hands off my soul, with your splintered ribs,
with your bleeding wrists and your empty cribs.
You made me into wreckage and sin,
the sound of your voice keeps my body thin.
And I was in love with an idea – the bait, and I bit,
but, God, it was beautiful.
It was, wasn’t it?"
-

The Things I’d Never Say | d.a.s

NaPoWriMo day 24: Make a list of people in your life, erase their names, and replace them with one thing you would never tell that person to their face, courtesy of wordsintheabyss

(via backshelfpoet)




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"Things that break:

flowers.
dawn.
the ocean.
our hearts.

this is how
gardens grow.
this is how
the sun blossoms.
this is how we
make it home.
this is how we
learn to love."
- Pavana पवन (via maza-dohta)

(via righteouslywicked08)




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"i.
My first lesson in how to live came
when I was small and learned not to
miss the green growing things,
neighborhood in the back parts of Brooklyn,
river water roaring in my lungs.
ii.
I am a copious maker of lists;
I grew up thinking that,
if everything had a number,
it would have a place.
iii.
It’s a wonder we got so far —
he lit and held the match for me, put out his cigarette
on my left shoulder and said
the mark was a gift of love.
iv.
The first time he hits me, I see stars,
fall into the wet dust of the road.
I sit on our faded couch for hours,
staring at the bloody floor.
v.
My life is filled will ridiculous,
tremulous lies.
All these bruises and
I am somehow still standing."
- A List Of Confessions For the Five Months I Loved an Abuser | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)


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"Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?" - Haruki Murakami (via troubled)


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bryanastarr:

“Maybe we exist as language and when someone dies
they are unworded”
— Bob Hicok, from “So I Know”

(via naivestars)


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perfectic theme