I am days away from finishing the term and I’m so fucking excited to have time to read a book again. I just want to quit school and read always.
you told me there would be days i am not worthy of red lipstick. today is that day. eyes smudged and knees skinned.
digging graves always felt a little bit like autumn.
i am not sun-kissed with delicate fingers. i don’t dance across piano keys. i don’t dance across anything anymore.
there have been days when loneliness was not a synonym for symphonies. there have been days when stained fingers were not a guilty plea.
here i am
crying on the sidewalk.
here i am
breaking windows in the rain.
i don’t feel bad about the spilled wine. i don’t feel bad about the loose lips and the filthy hands.
loathing is for the remorseful.
i don’t feel remorse now.
only liquid lust and and the way my hands shake after closing every open mouth.
five--a--day asked: I hope when people ask you about your necklace, you tell them it's from an overseas girl who thinks your heart is a force to be reckoned with.
i hope when people ask you about your necklace, you tell them that it’s from an overseas girl you almost tricked yourself into loving.
sometimes parts of me feel translucent.
like (every fingerprint i’ve ever left between your rib-cage)
would somehow turn into dust.
like (the letters i carved into our kisses)
are too tectonic.
we are all just little disasters anyways.
i used to think i was an explosion.
these days i know for sure that i am an earthquake,
and sometimes that means i am impossible to feel.
i don’t think i can do it. and sometimes that’s as simple as it gets.