when you cannot stop his words from running over and over and over in your mind like a treadmill that won’t turn off, you have no control over your heart anymore. the truth is that you are lost and the way he breathes sounds too familiar to be a coincidence
impressionable. easily swayed. the power of a word, a suggestion murmured in passing, planted like a seed, a mine.
she had a smudge of grease on her cheek and her overalls, a faded shade of sky, were torn at the knee. she smiled when she saw me and i wouldn’t have cared if the world were ending right then and there. “mind […]
hand against mine, mother eve pressing
the fruit of life
(the sky rings blue and the harvest is good, again)
tallskinnydirty-blonde granola girl in khaki pants and a faded tank, thinks she’s saving the world but really just saving her conscience
In reply to - eleven wrote about the word beloved and it’s like screaming and crying and calling out from the back of an old pickup truck full of used ammunition. and he says “baby, what color is the sky?” (and i can’t answer, because it’s still all black&white haze today, and kid that’s not a color.) • View
i look like a tool on the words page whenever i delete an entry and repost it with better metaphors.
new eyes for new sights
wearing 3d glasses on a flat plane and
i’m all awake, wide awake, taking it all in
like i’ve been sleepwalking this whole life.
torn apart limb by limb and laid out delicately
like an insect,
creepy crawling little things they were.
if i had a time machine i’d
go back to the future where i really belong,
strong and confident and happy in the glory of adulthood,
whether i was cashier at wal-mart
or king of the fucking world.
i used to have a maroon shirt
it was part of the dress code at one of my
many old schools and i hated
the dress code but loved the shirt
it smelled like clean detergents and my childhood and
i don’t have it anymore
and sears like
breathing whiskey and wine and
charring skin and bones
you burn me and
burn me burn me i want you to
filled with sloshing whiskey & we drunk ourselves silly on top of the hill but felt on top of the world & and i swear we were never going to end. our yells would echo on forever and someday, our great-great-great-grandchildren would come here and smell the scent of cheap alcohol and the good ol’ [...]
coated with dust and time and hellos and goodbyes. fire-hydrant red and wood-backed. there’s a rickety lamp hanging above the table, and a lipstick mark on the glass that seems etched in forever. “get me another glass,” says a stranger in a trenchcoat. “i’ll have one of those, too,” you tell the waitress as she [...]
the worst kind of thief steals the key to your house and locks the door after he’s done.
soft, salty, and twisted. contorted. distorted and warped. how quaint.
liar; he’s a liar and he doesn’t mean anything he says. he’s just spinning lies and love and information from that drunken mouth of yours.
i have this strange urge to just
pull you up and kiss you senseless
because i love you, i think,
but we don’t have time to be marred by
‘maybe’s and second-guessing
rust and dust. faded sepia photographs — which is silly because who prints out photos anymore in the age of digital everything? wistful; you’ve got a nostalgia filter spread over your eyes and it’s killing you. i’ve forgotten everything because memories aren’t tangible and if you can’t see it, if you can’t feel it — [...]
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