drowning in the stars.does the song you're listening to remind you of anyone? it's hard to answer this question when i'm thinking about you non-stop and every single song out there reminds me of your smile.i miss you, love. i can still feel your heartbeat pounding against my head. i can still feel your collarbone suffocating every last breath of air out of me. i can still feel your spinal cord underneath my fingertips.i'll look up at the stars wishing you were here to lay in the drifting rain with me. i'll count each and every one and play connect the dots to make pictures of your shining face. i'll drown in the soft water if it means getting to see you in the morning.i've got this feeling in my chest that makes me wonder what's going on with you, what you're doing at this very moment. it feels like you're on top of me, giving yourself to your dreams when all i can do is stare into your closed eyes and hold you as tight as possible without waking you. i can't help but wonder if you're dreaming of
since you left my worldbaby, you have me questioning if we were ever meant to be.darling, you have me wondering if love is really somewhere out there.honey, you have me hoping that you still need me.but you come home that night with tears errupting in your eyes as you tried to keep holding onto me, knowing what my eyes were thinking. you were telling me you're sorry and you're sorry but you don't think you can really do this anymore. and i screamed for you to let me go i can't look at you anymore after this, just- j- just go.--the world is spinning--i'm insomnious and it's not even a tick passed midnight. these covers are shielding my heart but it's no use because with each blink i see your face and with each quiver i see her. i'm staring hard into the air and i'm telling myself that it's not real, i'm staring hard into the air and i'm telling myself that it can't be. i'm crying into my mattress hoping to hush the sound, to become dry. i'm shutting my eyes and telling mysel
waitinghe spends his days chasing seagulls and singing to the songs in his headphones. he dances when he should be working and works when he should be laughing, but his eyes are the same shade as his hair in the morning and he knows who he is. he knows that rain is cliched but he doesn't want it for love or dancing or sorrow, he wants it for the way it flattens the clothes to his skin and the way it makes the leaves vibrant against withered clouds. he thinks in poetry and dreams in black and white, but he speaks of hope even though he knows how messed up the world is. he is still waiting for his second chance; he is still waiting for a reason; he is still waiting for someone to prove him wrong.----she wears long skirts and ribbons in her hair, and smiles because she knows it makes them happy. but she feels more deeply than anyone knows and sometimes she can't understand why the world insists on turning. she soaks up rainwater through porous skin, but she loves the sun because it can be ever
sail the atlanticif i ever loved you, it was because your smile never completely stretched out your lips, or because your eyes were blue and deep, but not full, no, never full. they were empty like a vast stretch of sea on the horizon, where you're sitting stranded in the sand and you know there are no ships but you still hope that someone will find you.your mind grew rank with thick, strangling weeds. they grew in your head, blotting out the sunlight like a cataract and you didn't laugh anymore. you smiled, but it was more like a grimace, an ironic twist of your mouth and you showed your teeth and your eyes glared instead of wrinkled in the corners. it wrung my heart like wet socks to see the pain you were trying so hard to hide from me. i always heard what you never said.i'm waiting for the day your heart breaks into the smallest pieces and you can't put it back together again. the day you call me for the last time and tell me how sorry you are, how the weeds in your head have won and that you've r
This will destroy you."We are running away from home, and who we are, and your skin is meeting me at the edges where we tear our seams apart like ribbons waiting to be pasted onto some portrait, but what we're doing isn't going to make something beautiful. It's just tearing us apart, and I wanted to tell you that I'm not doing it anymore, but your lips slid into that scar I told you about, and I felt the edges creak and everything inside of me ached to be torn. But you-you, we- can't we just be okay?""I know what it's like to want to stop, and grace yourself with blush and hope you look okay, and miss your skin, and press it to someone. But our skin isn't meant to blush or breathe, it is meant to break and blemish. We are swimming in ourselves, and our skin is holding all that in, but we need to flood each other and so we tear, and tear, because the ribbons let you out. They let you out. Would you rather bloat?""My visions of your face are blurred and I miss the skin on your hips because it hurts too fuck
hidden language."what's wrong?" just say it, and i'll be wherever you are."nothing's wrong." i want you to never let me go, but it's so hard to feel this way."okay. well, take care. call me when you reach." please don't go."i shall. you too." no, i don't want to go."i'll...miss you." i love you."i'll miss you too." i love you.
sometimes, cupid missesi.she sips pepsi from a straw because she likes the way it fizzes on her tongue, a thousand unshed words staining the parchment of her palmlines. at noon on cloudless days, she holds idle conversations with the sun, and when it rains, she writes reminiscences across foggy windows in hopes her dreams won't fade once her back is turned. sometimes, she paints with chocolate and cream because when she's sad, she only sees in grainy sepia, but she never lets it bother her. she tells the world she's holding out for happy endings and a kiss to sweep her into heaven's graces. only she knows that she's lying through her teeth. she just wants someone to spin her dizzy with their love.ii.he rasps raps from tender tonsils because he likes how it makes him feel, a warrior to the masses of those who aren't strong enough to scream their fears aloud. at midnight during thunderstorms, he sings secret lullabies for the st