whispered words

clumsy poetry

[minuty]

[night-seasons]

i hope you see constellations in my eyes even as the stars blind me i hope you see solar systems in my thighs when a cacophony of freckles and bruises is what plagues the skin inhabiting them i hope you see shooting stars when i run to you crashing and burning i hope you see the sun when you see my dry lips and think to yourself that gravity is real and that its a shame that sun is only ever circled by the planets i hope you see a supernova when every word on my tongue becomes reckless and my actions cease to define me and the red in my fingertips becomes more relevant than all the colors in my eyes i only ever see blackholes in my irises and an uninhabitable planet where my feelings once rested i hope you remember me for the phosphorous and beautiful chemistry i create with you, and i hope that you don’t fade away as this collection of stardust descends into aphelion

his orbit around her was constant until her planets realigned (via night-seasons)

[broken-bell-deactivated20170814]

we’re all just hurt people trying to make sense of dragons that flew to close to the stars we sit around the table at night, hoping for the burns to calm our stomachs down our bellies tremble, like our hands, so it’s hard to think straight or write or even laugh but we carry on anyway, partly because we’re stubborn like that and partly because a part of us believes in the validity of hope we cry, yes, but we also smile– we leave our homes behind but we always return there’s a gentle sort of sweetness and tenderness that rests on our palms and we try our hardest to share it with the world either through poetry or stories or songs or even jokes, little anecdotes that accrue meaning with the passage of time…

sometimes it seems like we’re just ominous, obscure movie posters hanging on dirty walls but then when someone looks closely enough they can see the hidden joys in our ink and in our eyes.. (via broken-bell)

[night-seasons]

we were gods, masters of forgery and euphoria the key to everything held in the palms of our hands a split second lead to eternity for us scratches and burn marks signified power and control we were our own spoils war was never external celestial contact and lingering fingers bruised knuckles and purple fingertips shaking hands and bodies that glittered white never personal, always passive never warriors, always conflicted never romantics, always masochistic did we die as gods do?

(via overobsessedmess)

[sparrowskin]

you hated the color yellow well, fuck that i’m reclaiming all the words i wrote about you taking back my metaphors i am the sun a thousand stars glow in my eyes i am the night sky, the morning light, a hundred secret gardens, the entire ocean, and you are no longer anything more than a sand dollar floating somewhere amidst my consciousness and i am a million golden sunsets you hated the color yellow but now my hair is gold my heart is gold my eyes are gold and i’m done letting your darkness in

@lavendersoft (via lavendersoft)

[celiabasto]

[rbcages]

All this talk about summer love and strawberry lips and golden skin and no one ever talks about loving when the sky is dark grey, about loving when the trees won’t stop shaking and the wind moans your name. So let me tell you about loving when the streets are cold, when you wake to crisp morning air and tangled bodies. Let me tell you about the fog that escapes your mouth before you kiss; how it moves like ghosts dancing to ballads between open lips. Let me tell you about rose-red cheeks and rose-red noses and how good his chest feels when you’re trying to keep warm. About rain pelting hard against your windshield and your heart pelting harder against your chest when his hands touch you. About how warm bodies feel when everything around you is cold. About how your bones shake like the trees and the powerlines and sweaters have never felt as good as they do when they smell just like him. All this talk about summer love and no one ever talks about loving when you’re the only lit matches in a city made of ice.

Reena B.| November love. (via rbcages)

[rabbit--light-deactivated201601]

Rabbit queen there is blood, beats beneath fur, blood-beats in the muscle wrap- here there are things known; the shadows grown in thin hands- winter comes and falls in weak light- but these are things known- blood and bone and fur and cold- come, these old hills roll out beneath the weight of sky- there is danger in all cracked walls, in all holes, in the earth, in its frozen harried heart- there is danger, it blooms like blood on fur- but there is fur here still, come- queen when the sun peaks, queen under a white sky- the old hills dug out from beneath, the old hills in her nails, her teeth, her oil-black eyes- she stands on the hillcrest, dares the sky- she is small and blood and bone and fur- she is born to be afraid but she is teeth too, and claws, she is the earth she’s dislodged, she is a thing ferocious, winter-made- she is queen in her spotless fur- she is all the hot blood fed through- she is queen here, of these old hills, queen in the wide white winter still.

L. Maruska (via rabbit--light)

[jadeonn]

Make Up

The arch in carved brows,

graphs your ups; Your downs.

Too high, too low;

The flick of winged-eyes,

carries your life; Your death.

Too long, too short;

The outline of painted lips,

colours your ambition; Your hindrance.

Too full, too thin. 

You bleed too red; Desire too loud.

You are, altogether, too little; Too much.

You can never be, just enough. 

[forlornfae]

Instead of crying herself to sleep, she drives out to nowhere, stopping only when tears blur her vision, creating a mess of sticky mascara and saltwater tears. She rolls down the foggy window to scream her throat raw and her heart empty of all the pain you’ve caused. Then, she returns, swerving all over the road, until she gets back to her barren home. Staring at the frame-less photograph, haphazardly, pinned to the wall, a brilliant smile painted on your face, she breaks down once more, dreaming of everything she’ll never have. And all because you chose to play the hero. You couldn’t be satisfied could you? She knows you didn’t even think twice before taking the bullet meant for her.

Memories of You (M.S.)

[forlornfae]

Wisps of souls visit their loved ones before they fully dissipate into nothing, but they're pushed away with a terrorized cry of, "No, leave me be, please." Knuckles white and eyes wide. Thus, the spirit is forced, prematurely, into the nether to wander and wait for those that scorned them to ascend. And so, it waits, plotting its revenge with a bleeding heart.

Malevolent Mannerisms (M.S.)

[clackyj]

Stars

collect the stars from the ground underneath the picnic bench the ones left on the cement from some six-year-old’s birthday party but he’s not coming back tonight

place the stars in a haphazard line see how they shine in the fading daylight

[forlornfae]

Alive are the crypts, crawling with maggots, dining on flesh and lost are the souls. refusing to let go of the rotting prison of their bodies, so they cling onto bones only belonging to them by name, shrieking as they realize nibbling rats have claimed those same bones as their own.

Robbed Remnants (M.S)

[forlornfae]

Frigid fingertips graze over supple, warm flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps as emotionless eyes study him coolly. Crimson lips pull into a small smile as she reaches towards his chest, withdrawing to reveal a beating heart.

Hook, Line, and Sinker (M.S.)

[roses-in-a-jar-blog]

I will never forgot the way his eyes glimmered in the moonlight, like waves of ocean-gray, mimicking every heartbeat that lingered between us.

(via roses-in-a-jar)

[poetictropicalmermaid]

love’s like a fire and it burned like a brandas the amber embers fade awaythe smoke rises and fills the night airlove lingers on your sleeveand the memories of uswill burn foreverin our hearts.

still missning you pt. one (via jeremiah33three)

[outofloveinspring]

open your mouth, and teach me the meaning of decay

h.l.s., Kissing Lessons (via outofloveinspring)