Syd Writes Stuff

Sydney | 20 | A separate place for my writings. | Main: ivecarvedawoodenheart

[sydwritesstuff]

[sydwritesstuff]

The candy powder that sticks to your throat, wrappers crinkling in your pockets; the tastes and sounds of you.

Candy Shoppe, by S.M.

[sydwritesstuff]

Crawling in and out of space with you; bruising my shins on asteroid belts.

Before we can run, we walk//the creation of the universe, by S.M. (via sydwritesstuff)

[sydwritesstuff]

Crawling in and out of space with you; bruising my shins on asteroid belts.

Before we can run, we walk//the creation of the universe, by S.M.

[sydwritesstuff]

I wanted you to know: It was because I was smudging at my edges and instead of helping you smeared me around more.

Why We Aren't, by S.M.

[sydwritesstuff]

Flower petals and bone shards mingle in a hallowed bouquet underneath my skin.

Collapse and Rebirth, Looped, by S.M.

[sydwritesstuff]

Death walked in wearing the face of my past love as I was taking my mixed berry pie from the oven.   ‘You’re pale,’ I said. 'I’m the same,’ he replied; 'You’re the one who’s different now.’   He took a slice of crumbling pie and tasted it, skeletal hands holding the silver knife   as I watched. Death said, 'The pie is the same, though,’ and then scraped back the chair and he was on his way again.

Stopping Through, by S.M. (via sydwritesstuff)

[sydwritesstuff]

Death walked in wearing the face of my past love as I was taking my mixed berry pie from the oven.   'You're pale,' I said. 'I'm the same,' he replied; 'You're the one who's different now.'   He took a slice of crumbling pie and tasted it, skeletal hands holding the silver knife   as I watched. Death said, 'The pie is the same, though,' and then scraped back the chair and he was on his way again.

Stopping Through, by S.M.

[sydwritesstuff]

My love he is cherry-bled and lightning-kissed; (too much too warm my fingers crackle when we touch.)

From 12:59, by S.M. (via sydwritesstuff)

[sydwritesstuff]

My love he is cherry-bled and lightning-kissed; (too much too warm my fingers crackle when we touch.)

From 12:59, by S.M.

[sydwritesstuff]

I have hooks for fingers (I’m sorry for holding on too tight)

Apology to my past loves, by S.M. (via sydwritesstuff)

[sydwritesstuff]

I have hooks for fingers (I'm sorry for holding on too tight)

Apology to my past loves, by S.M.

[sydwritesstuff]

Knew him like I knew anything. Like he rose in my mind every morning like the sun.

Sunrise, by S.M.

[sydwritesstuff]

Cover me in splotches of paint and dust crushed from minutes and hours; watch me unpin the sky from the heavens.

Creation, Unmade, by S.M. (via sydwritesstuff)

[sydwritesstuff]

Cover me in splotches of paint and dust crushed from minutes and hours; watch me unpin the sky from the heavens.

Creation, Unmade, by S.M.

[weneverfreeze]

100th

The first time you’re seven and he’s turning nine. You don’t know what to give him really; there isn’t much money at home and the last frog you gave him ran off, so there’s not much to do.

You find baseball cards though, his favorite team, in the alley behind the grocer’s, and they put the moon in his eyes. It’s a good gift.

The fifth time you’re eleven and he’s turning thirteen. It’s still hard to find something, more so because somehow you’ve managed to find the perfect thing every other time. He says he doesn’t need anything and you believe him; he’s the kind of person to say that and mean it, every time. But the thing is, you think to yourself in the kitchen, he’s the kind of person who deserves it even more just because he always says he doesn’t need anything.

It’s not so much the needs as it is the wants, you reason, and that’s why you ask your mother for help with cookies.

The eleventh time you’re seventeen and he’s turning nineteen. You’ve got an idea for this present but you’re nervous; your mother asked you where you were going so dressed up and you said dancing, which isn’t a lie, and yet. Your gift lies outside of dancing. You get to the dance hall and he’s there with a girl and something curls inside your chest. In your head it’s like a dragon wrapping around your gift to him, and you think about leaving. But then he smiles and pushes away from her to come to you, and when you hug him he lingers and you’re very much aware of his hands between your shoulders and on your lower back. He says something about your outfit and says you look sharp and that’s enough to make you stay.

Keep reading

[sydwritesstuff]

I am purple smears on pulpy orange canvas; lavender lived under my skin, once.

I Was Softer Before, by S.M.