he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Cosmic Funnies
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
@theartofmadeline
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ellievsbear
KIROKAZE
tannertan36
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
titsay
Origami Around
Peter Solarz
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n
oozey mess
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
Claire Keane
seen from Germany
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@drippingtragedy
Your poem about you an your brother and biblical names is my favourite. "Moses parts the red sea, Dinah parts her cells, Abraham parts brothers. The Bible is the world's largest guide of tragedies" is a great line
oh im crying on my sideblog??? i will kill for u anon
i am a tyrant in my own life ; i refuse myself home and belonging under a guise of my vindictive analysis of each short-coming of mine
death to man. a simple feat.
tell me the woven fabric of an axe handle wore callouses into your hands. and you believed it made you a man. tell me, remember there is no condemnation here. your boy is safe in your bed still. tell me how many nights were you his vigils, monitoring coughs and shakes for poison. death to boy.
when you look at him, you see the epitome of your life. each stitch of your skin, each scar was divined to love him. beautiful boy- the meadow, we return home to it. your soft is misplaced, each curve is a curse. each limb is crashing on the bank, snapped like driftwood. warrior man, tell me of your ancestors, of how they painted their cheeks and listen to their women scream as they went to battle. can you sleep when you think of your sister. i demand nothing from you except confessionals. i demand little for you, except for stamnia. you are world weary but the world doesnt tire of you yet.
writing prompt: july, july @julykings
so of course it begins with kissing / the idea of it / the sickness in the depths of me / now in the depths of you / the brushes of the alternative timeline / the one where i choked down blood laying prone in your bed / the one where there is no blood, just hands and skin and tongues / the one where the sound of your name is melodic but i am tired of music / the strain of this / of the touching / of the repeated naming / of the desire to be claimed / so we are paralyzed three stories down / and i am fever sick with the intent to touch you / always just an arm’s length away / we are a story that is seldom told / the gore of the silence touches too deeply to be sent home neatly /
you are feeling a moment so sharp that
blood starts to swell up in your mouth.
a palm to the nose, a broken heart so vivid.
the dashboard of the car greeting your face.
the seatbelt grasping on your body.
an all copper taste, pennies against your tongue.
the neighborhood boys take turns socking you in the stomach.
then it’s all bile,
stumbling out across your chest.
an acidic retch up the
length
of
your
throat.
tongue burning up at the taste,
you are keeled over in the hive-inducing grass.
but their fists keep swinging.
and again.
and again.
and again.
strung out like a rag doll,
the love of your short life is collapsed on the couch.
his eyes are glazed over,
his smile lighter. lighters
keep getting passed around.
cotton mouth:
your teeth jutting out at all the wrong angles.
teeth too big for your mouth,
brushing awkwardly against your tongue.
cracked lips, he wets his and it’s all downhill from there.
in a moment, it becomes freudian mouths exploring.
- J.M.
bullet hole peep hole view on a crime scene in action / SUMMER OF 2017 | J.M.
M.I.A ( MISSING IN APPARITION ) | J.M.
Avi? If u wrote a poem about me ill probably cry? (Not that u know me but)
SEND A NAME/WORD FOR A POEM
technicolor static,green code on black computer screens.now modern dreams arestatic dripping down over palms,blood pacts made out of ethernet cables. sneaking out of houses, kicking back bottle of wine,lighting up and letting down: surveillance footage. love letters pressed into chat messages. foreign bodies pressed upagainst computer screens. all plotting out lines of youth over pixels, kissing mistakes oversend buttons.
underneath the jaw lies a valley of flowers. and underneath the house lies a massacre of bodies. there are bodies of lovers, bodies of touch-n-go, bodies of stay a little while longer. the tv hums out electric lullabies, big bang splatters itself all over the screen. chairs creaking under the weight of bodies. bodies creaking under the weight of resignation. fingertips by temple tracing lines of brow, lines of bridge, lines of lip. summer heat slips under shirts and wrings out bodies fresh of panic. a phone rings distantly. there is a world outside of room, a scope wider than a muggy living room. there will never be a lens wide enough to capture it all. too much space between bodies, too little courage between hands. a moth trap hums on the porch. a hand touches a knee. the phone keeps ringing. eyes closed, chapped lips brush. summer heat drags two more away. - on the meaning phones ringing rooms away j.m.
- j.m.
( sun. ) ( music. ) ( medicine. )
she checks my hip while walking, coyly smiles and keeps on talking.
i recline back into a thicket of grass and watch as it swallows me alive. the sun as my only witness.
her hands find my biceps too easily in the dark. one would almost think we knew each other before this life.
( sun. ) ( music. ) ( medicine. )
he drums a line or two behind my desk. smugly smiles and keeps on rapping out notes.
my hands touch the chords of an instrument, strings too tightly wound to allow for relief. i can imagine a noose. a tie. a band around flowers. a zip tie around my wrists.
leading me to his room, it almost feels like i’ve been here
( sun. ) ( music. ) ( medicine. )
in the narrative of love, we find three possible stories.
one of lover. that is to say one of devotion and utter selflessness. tracing veins and counting freckles.
one of world. that is to say one of wonder and a graceful insignificance. tracing terrains and counting cities.
and one of self. that is to say one of acceptance and tears. tracing bruises and counting scars. taking pride in that.
- greek mythology / j.m.
we are liquor sick, going 90 in a 45, and this still isn’t our worst plan. easily, our worst plan was kissing at a party, caught up in a stranger’s room. an hour away from anyone that would know our names. vodka quick, my hand catching in the fabric of your shirt. forgetting everything. your name. my name. every word i ever learned becoming undone in your mouth. i have a feeling while smoking on the bleachers that maybe i shouldn’t trust you in the way i do. but i still give my entire heart to you, this is a balancing act, your hands only know dissection ( stripping down your pens, tearing apart your lighters, tearing through pages and me. ) and i only know how to trust. you’re whispering trust me on this one like i haven’t on everything. whispering i get you’re hesitant and i would be if it wasn’t you. watching you in the halo of a sunset, the lines of your body, i’m realizing how bad this is going to hurt when i become yet another bad plan. - trust me? j.m.
im fixated by watching you say my name how you take the flesh of it and transform it into art. i watch you take the two syllables and make it into a ballad. how you twist and turn my name in a new variation the magic of you keeps me on the edge of my seat, watching the curves and lines of your face. i watch the way your lips meet in the middle and keep wishing mine were in between.
on_accident_horrormovie.jpeg
this just happens when I think of you. not trying to start anything but it's been happening a lot recently.
