nepenthe

ash in my hands

[blueprint-of-sharp-objects]

In these dreams it’s always you: the boy in the sweatshirt, the boy on the bridge, the boy who always keeps me from jumping off the bridge. Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.

Richard Siken, “I Had a Dream About You” (via fauxpas)

[spookykrennic-deactivated201710]

here is the truth: i did not miss you any longer. there are so many stars out there and it breaks my heart to love just one. here is the truth: i did not look back. […] you deserved someone who could make you feel safe, not cheap neon lights trying to be stars. this is the truth i’ve been trying to tell myself. […] this is a hole i’m patching through and this is the space i’m growing around. you. my body. the empty sky. […] i will not ask you for forgiveness.

excerpt from poem written in post-it notes taped to the refrigerator, Helix M. (via jaemestkirk)

[thatsyourgold]

I am hungrier than you are and I still know when to stop. I am lonelier than you are and I still know when to leave.

Caitlyn Siehl (via thatsyourgold)

[thatsyourgold]

I think I could have loved you better than anybody, and I can’t stop making lists of all the times I almost told you that. That’s what I’m doing. I’m twisting our story until it stops remembering you just so I can sleep at night. But I’ll always be here, hands like a broken record that skips at the sleepless night before you crawled back into yourself for good. Just know that I’ve been waiting. Know that you’re the first time I ever swallowed my pride and then spit it back up. I hope you remember what your bed felt like with me laying honest in it. That is what brave looked like.

Caitlyn Siehl, Waiting (via thatsyourgold)

[book-caps]

Caitlyn Siehl, This is Not a Love Poem

[artsnquotes]

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.

Edvard Munch  (via wnq-art)

[sweetnepenthe]

I still love you.

[sweetnepenthe]

what do you see when, through the window you remember the color the roses used to be. when I remember the window, always stares the ghastly white blossom back at me.

Mine

[shinji--moon-deactivated2017123]

When the apocalypse comes and all the windows are shattered and the car tires have melted into the pavement, once all the schools and hospitals and skyscrapers have folded in on themselves and the last street lamp has wilted like a starving flower, I will still want to fuck you. We both know I can’t handle stress well. I’m anxious, claustrophobic, and things between us haven’t always been easy — you nitpick, I’m stubborn, and we have been fighting over pointless things like directions, how you never take me anywhere nice anymore. I saw the way you smiled at that poet and her pomegranate metaphors SUCKED. But sweetheart, when a meteor crashes through our kitchen ceiling, I will not panic. When the locusts envelop the neighborhood and our shower water thickens to blood, I promise not to bite my nails. I won’t even get angry when you don’t answer your phone — even as the pavement begins to crack and spew like a rotten egg, you will not get 47 missed calls in 4 minutes (*even though we both know it’s possible). When the news anchor finally tells us the truth — that there is no hope — I won’t even thinking about joining the angry mob outside our burning apartment building. Baby, no. I will put on my least flammable negligee and I will find you. I will crawl to you across this curdling parking lot of a city, lick your body new again like my tongue is God’s hand trying to erase and recreate the earth. For 6 days straight, we will be what makes the sidewalk blister. Day 1: in the beginning, I will find you, pull you into me. Day 2: we will make the earth and the sky jealous. Day 3: I want you to fuck me bent over a crumpled taxi. 4: in the graveyard of a strip mall. 5: on the steps of the capital, in every store, on every mattress that isn’t on fire. This world is a melting candle we’re only using for foreplay. Day 6: You may think I’m in denial, that I am avoiding the bigger issue here but you didn’t even look at me the last time you said I love you and, shit, if it didn’t feel like the end of the world. I know this can’t be healthy (pretending everything is on fire), but baby, we could be the most beautiful wreckage in all this smoke. When the apocalypse does come, I will rebuild our city with my tongue. I will suck this world’s ashes from your fingers. I will refuse to let the fires of this hell be the only thing that makes us sweat. When the apocalypse comes, so will we.

“When The Apocalypse Comes,” Sierra DeMulder, The Bones Below (via anneretic)

[christopherpoindexter]

The Universe and Her, and I #325 written by Christopher Poindexter

[alonesomes]

Back again. Bones above ground. Wind chime fingers in my hair. A quiet knife-tongue on my shoulder. An ancient ruin. Your teeth the twenty eight steps to the broken temple. Fuck you. Fuck me. Eat my palm. Eat my offering. Climb down. Climb back. I don’t want to make sense to anything, I just want to be the stone you grind into powder. Love, my violent myth, my terrifying air. Turn my water to wine. Eat my heart out. Feed it to the sun. Back again. Back again. Unburied. Unburied and pale. Dirt under my fingernails because I like saving you. Love, my angry body weeping. Your sleeping mouth tattooed on my sternum. Love, my vicious secret. Love, my hungry dream.

Caitlyn Siehl, Unburied (via alonesomes)

[sweetnepenthe]

Of many reasons I love you here is one the way you write me from the gate at the airport so I can tell you everything will be alright so you can tell me there is a bird trapped in the terminal all the people ignoring it because they do not know what do with it except to leave it alone until it scares itself to death it makes you terribly terribly sad You wish you could take the bird outside and set it free or (failing that) call a bird-understander to come help the bird All you can do is notice the bird and feel for the bird and write to tell me how language feels impossibly useless but you are wrong You are a bird-understander better than I could ever be who make so many noises and call them song These are your own words your way of noticing and saying plainly of not turning away from hurt you have offered them to me I am only giving them back if only I could show you how very useless they are not

"Bird-Understander" - Craig Arnold

[quoted-books]

Well, hello, darling with the ocean eyes, How many secrets keep us apart? A sea of poems, a field of sighs, Can I cross and return to the start?

Amy Zhang, Falling into Place (via quoted-books)

[sakamoto-sama-blog]

THIS IS LOVE BITCHES THIS IS LOVE  GOMEZ AND MORTICIA

[ruby-of-olives-and-bees-deactiv]

Relationship Goals Desperately seeking Gomez

[rasputinette-deactivated]

Visit Original Link

if the heavens ever did speak she’s the last true mouthpiece every sunday’s getting more bleak a fresh poison each week

unrealitycw have a Super Gay version of take me to church

[wordscanbeenough]

For a long time I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to put myself back together, because letting go of the sadness would mean I had to redefine myself. And sometimes, I still feel like chasing the darkness, because I don’t exactly know who I am without it. I realised I made a home out of something I should have never let in.

wtm, chasing the darkness (via wordscanbeenough)

[leonormorrow-deactivated2014111]

You endure what is unbearable, and you bear it. That is all.

Cassandra Clare (via leonormorrow)