slight talk

Given a talk with my better judgment
Perhaps we would decide that I deserve more
That I could do better, at least a little, if only we cared some
If only in my slumber, the very strands in
The fabric of time would rearrange themselves
to produce a silkier texture
or one that is washed in the same contentment
and familiarity as a security blanket
Collectively we would agree that maybe then

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4/21/14 at 12:33a

I’m looking straight at him, head-on

Draped lazily over the couch, tired from the day

We only have a couple hours but I’ll let him sleep

I’ve been too selfish in our past anyway

He deserves that much of me

When I really want to curl up next to him

and share body heat til his back is sticky-wet

Rub his head and play in his too-long hair

I’ve contemplated it a few times

Actually planned how…

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I’ve moved my writing to

for anyone who cares

or whatever, nbd

k, bye.

“People aren’t books, I’ve learned.
You can’t bookmark your favorite pieces
to return to whenever you’re feeling lonely;
when the nights get too cold and you
need something familiar to keep you warm,
you can’t reopen their spines and wear
out their pages and call that obsession love.”
— Pavana पवन (via maza-dohta)

(via alexandraelle)

as hard as I try I can’t swallow the solution
can’t break my skin to bleed it all out
can’t get to a trigger to end it in a glorious blast

I wrote from my soul, now there’s nothing else to scribe

St. Louis Art Museum

too angry to talk about it
not angry enough to write about it


riding the Tiger with my sissas

between the first Blood moon of the lunar tetrad & Easter I promised him a poem