#scribbledink

[lookingforalaska999]

Why sleep when the sky is so beautiful.

[onthecue]

Presence

I cannot promise, nor guarantee you that this life will ever get easier. This world is a cruel, broken thing. When you fall to your knees, she will not rise to stop you, nor soften the impact. If you press your forehead to her ground, sometimes she will roar and start a riot. 

I cannot stop the ending that comes with heedless abandonment. I cannot alleviate the hurt or heal what’s left of your heart. But I can promise I am here, and I will be here. For the pain and the healing, For the numbness and the feeling, I am here. And you will never have to suffer alone again. You will never walk alone, again.

[scrittura-vita]

The dreams come first and they’re already creeping up on me like my own exclusive horror screening. Some days I wake up with tears in my eyes and I tell you, but then theres days that I don’t, and the days that I don’t will grow more until you don’t understand why my hands are shaking when I brew my morning coffee. Its first my hands that the dreams control, and my mind is strong enough to fight the thoughts off until its time to sleep and I close my eyes. Then its the light in my eyes that sweeps away the spine of my voice that wears slowly but painstakingly surely. Then I disappear. Im here until I’m not anymore, like when you wake up and you scoot to the edge of your bed and put your feet on the cold wooden floor, there until it isn’t anymore. Im there until I’m not anymore. We exist until we don’t anymore disappearing disappear disap disappointing

m.v

[scrittura-vita]

I cannot sleep at night, thinking and feeling and hearing you next to me. You are my dream when I am away from my dreams.

[waitingonforever42]

maybe I struggle with breathing because I feel that inhaling deeply would widen the cracks I feel in my heart. 

Maybe its because I'm afraid that if I exhale too completely the parts of you that I have stored in my chest for so long will disappear and leave with my breath. 

[spiritualpoet]

Broken love//part 1. I don't want to see you tear yourself down anymore, I can no longer watch. You are beautiful, and I told you that four times alone last Tuesday. Do not look at me with such a defeated glare. Don't you know that dormant dragons lay unspoken on your tongue, awaiting your command. Don't ever be so indecisive, trust your mind the way that I trust your heart to love me, through your pain, through your mistakes. It hurts me when you hurt you, and I apologise that my love for you is not enough to build a home, with a fire place, and let you stay there.

Mans point of view.

[spiritualpoet]

It is supposed to feel over when it is over. What a common misconception. Ghosts exist because things that are over do not even necessarily have to feel like they are over, to be over. And pain exists for the very same reason. There is a tiny wooden box that sits closed in the corner of my living room, I haven't opened it since the last time that I closed it. And beside the dark red curtains and yellow flower embroidery, there is a little love for you yet, it sits patiently on the floor of my wooden terrace. And my brown leather couch will always remind me of summer, sticky and unpredictable. My limbs are worn out. The seams of my arms are limp and unreliable from hanging tightly around your neck during messy shores. And my right arm beckons. How quiet it is in living rooms with no body to fill them. Are they infact still rooms for living, even at all?