[wallpapers-as-fuck]

[ir-racjonalizm]

my edit

[beyondtwolostsouls]

“I’m too exhausted to explain my soul to someone again.”

— T. // ten word story #38 (via logicaldreamer)

[tea-and-skies]

While I’m alone and

Watching the empty dance floor

Sinking in the cold of

Empty conversations

I think of you and how

The only think I want right now

Is your hand on mine

And near me your warm

I can’t even begin to explain

The loneliness I can feel deep in my bones

In a room full of people

When I want to be

In a room full of you

[fishparasite]

Kiss Her Lightly

If I could,

I would kiss her lightly on the lips,

and then again on one of her perfect cheeks,

and back on her mouth,

but not lightly this time.

Holding her against me,

she would be so close.

So, so close.

And her lips would be right there,

as they always are,

but this time they would be on mine.

Me on tiptoes,

because she’s so tall.

Our hands clasped together,

I squeeze them,

as if to say “I love you.”

Then I bring them to my lips,

and lightly place a kiss on both.

She squeezes back and smiles.

My hands are in her hair,

it’s so long and soft and so, so pretty.

She’s so pretty and beautiful.

She turns to look at me with a smile,

and I smile back,

and I never have to hide those hearts in my eyes again.

A small kiss.

Let us make constellations from them, my love.

I call her “love”

and “darling”

and “sweetheart.”

This time not under my breath,

this time she can hear my loving words.

She smiles in response,

smiles with her heart.

I smile back,

and I love her with my own.

She’s beautiful.

And she would be kissed by my own lips,

if only they could be brought up to hers.

If only I could do that.

[codename-fatass]

Same

[01101010010101-10101001010110-d]

[animatedtext]

requested by sadboyoreo

[definegodliness]

What remained of me, my sanity, now swallowed by earth; arms stretched out to the sky to sink faster; at times I must visit this graveyard where every tomb bears my name, yet it is not to write an epitaph, but to mourn all the flowers who have died in vain.

[theheightofdepression]

I’m always waiting.

For the weekend.

For the holidays.

For a new dawn.

They’ve all come and gone.

I’m still waiting…

[softvelvetwords]

Untangling a thread of words from my heartstrings

But only the ones that sound pretty to pretentious human ears

Not the boring thoughts

About what I ate for breakfast

Or the repetitious anxious thoughts

That I will end up alone eventually

Not my fear or my heartbreak or

The mundanity of life’s routines

Not about how my parents didn’t love me enough

Or how the price of vanilla has gone up

For 20 minutes

Or the weather or the traffic

The time fillers that we love so much

Just my fake indulgent thoughts about flowers and soft skin and honey

I never even thought twice about honey until I met you

[roseharlaws]

“I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.”

— Sylvia Plath, “Elm” from her second book of poetry, Ariel, published two years after her death. 

[healerorkiller]

[tenderblues]

Paula Gunn Allen, “He Na Tye Woman”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Herman Reinstein, from Poetry; “Infinitives,” originally published c. April 1924

[not-hard-to-love]

[ellisnightingale]