what if theres no tomorrow

I’m just talking to myself

[the-ache-archive]

[the-ache-archive]

[the-ache-archive]

Roses in My Lungs

She kissed my cigarette

with that red lipstick.

Now my lungs grow roses,

blood soaked, thorns and all.

Every inhale

softens her into something holy,

warm hands, soft mouth,

a girl untouched by leaving.

Then the exhale comes,

cold as hospital silver,

reminding me

I am loving someone

who no longer allows it.

Somewhere, she is happy.

Somewhere, I am still burning her name

into my ribs like a sin.

I can’t breathe

without tasting her.

I don’t want to.

Like the cigarette,

I know it’s killing me,

but my hands still reach for it

in the dark.

[the-ache-archive]

They say “lightning doesn’t strike twice” . My experience is that some people have far more grief to contend with than they should.

I pray you have a wonderful life moving forward for yourself.

[the-ache-archive]

[the-ache-archive]

When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.

[signedthemoon]

— isa b. in another life

[veritaspetal-deactivated2026050]

[festeredhearts]

[expressions-of-nature]

by Donna McL

[dvnyaaa]

[perriaeyjeve]

[homosexualbarbie]

jessica pineda

[lehooes]

max julien lalanne

[sairenji]

[unchartedgrounds-deactivated201]

[gothredy]

[the-ache-archive]

We belong to the same sky- but as far apart as can be.