as vacant as
a gaping grave
because I put everything
into loving you
I am a
promises.i'd tear out my rib-cage
to give you a place to sleep.
i'd even silence my heart,
so the beating wouldn't
you left your roses in my throat.i'm convinced there was a god
at least once
not because of some neck-tied preacher
or pamphlets left on my doorstep
but because there was poetry written in the lines of your lips
and, though you were so many things,
a poet wasn't one, love
so if you didn't write those words
then who did?
i wanted to,
but it wasn't me
i don't think you would have let me anyway
you never liked my poetry very much
because it was sad
and sad reminded you of your mother
and that made you sad
so we'd be sad together
and you didn't think that was a good basis for a relationship
but we weren't a relationship
we were just two ghosts
trying to haunt each other
and that never works out.
there's a sky somewhere i can't see.i don't have laugh lines;
i have frown lines
trenches carved into my skin
by the threads that weigh my lips
the weights on the ends
have indented my collarbones;
i am, in all metaphorical sense and purposes,
a lonely canyon
dying in the sun.
you don't need stars with city lights.i love the city,
because you introduced us.
your apartment was on wycliffe avenue,
a rectangular gray-brick building
that was our make-shift castle.
i could stay up all night
sitting on the fire-escape
and watch waves thrash within the harbor.
long after midnight fled
and we were still curled up
on your couch
my parents would call to ask me where i was,
even though they already knew.
late night sirens
and insomniac car horns,
mixed with your measured breathing
became a lullaby
that lured me to sleep
admists the ivory sheets.
i would always wake
just before dawn
and wait for the sun to rise
so together we could watch you awaken.
and even as i said goodbye
i was leaving my jacket
hanging on the kitchen chair
just to have another excuse
to come back.
some words on bones.and you would always trail
a gentle fingertip
along my thinly veiled ribs
that rose up to the surface
when i inhaled your world.
i loved the way your hipbones
would protrude with marble glory
as you lay upon your back
and dreamed all the while
we stayed and watched the stars.
it was upon my collarbones
that you left tender trails
of reddish-purple bruises
whose presences made us laugh
in the morning
when we saw your lips' footprints.
the sharp and defined line
of your perfect jaw
always left me speechless
as i watched them hinge
everytime you spoke,
i guess my words
got sucked into your throat.
you said that the bones
in my hand
would always quiver when i got nervous
so you grabbed my fingers
and held them tight
"structure," you whispered;
and now that structure
so maybe when we die
they'll pile our bones together
and grind them into sand
that blows along the
You Kill Me the Way Books Do.You are all literature
is to me,
your mind encompasses the
of the whole earth.
Your gentle eyes
narrate the greatest story
and your ivory touch
writes the perfect poem.
When you smile you are
adorned by golden crowns.
When you cry you become
the tragic hero,
the martyr of the play.
You are all the words
that fill each book,
and I am the humble reader
just wishing you knew I
Fairy Tales Can Die.I heard your heart beat,
a lullaby that lured me to sleep.
I reached up and touched your copper hair
as it wrestled with the summer breeze,
the softness of a cloud.
I treasured each word
that fell from your rose petal lips,
glorious paintings that sat my soul
I was guided by the light in your eyes,
a silver glow that brought me home,
to this vacant wonderland
and crumbling castles
that you promised to rebuild.
We tried to slay the dragons,
but they slayed us instead.
there's broken flowers in my grandmother's bible.and i'm going to college just to drop out
i'm inviting you to come to california with me
and we'll make snowmen out of sand
when the desert there runs into arizona
i'll take the camera i just bought
and try to make a movie
that i'll dedicate to you
i know people don't dedicate films
but i promise i'll dedicate my first one to you
even if you don't love me then
but i'm not scared that you'll stop loving me
i'm just scared you'll give up
and find someone else while you still love me.
we won't be famous by fame and magazines
but some other dreamer is going to write our names
on a napkin that gets dropped on the sidewalk
we'll wear clothes our parents were wearing in '87
and have art tattoos on our arms and dead soldiers' names on our legs
people on the bus will see us holding hands and sleeping on each other's shoulders
and wish they could be us for a day
because no one wants our lives for all their life
any necklace i give you will turn your skin green
but it won't be permanent and i'll
letters from the seai.
sometimes when i wake up
before the sun rises, when i’m all alone
and it feels like i might be the only person in the world
i notice that my face is wet
and i wonder if it’s because
i’ve been swimming with you in my dreams
i remember you
in the summer nights under the corsican stars
and the warmth of your skin in the cold seawater
how the phosphorescence coated our bodies
as we swam together,
the salty tang of the ocean and your fingers up my spine
and us glowing like soft stars in the night
i remember how i wished it could last forever
now i wonder if the tides and my tears
were so different after all
Doflamingo x Reader 3Baby 5: come on out already
You exit from behind the screen with your head down. You were wearing a maid uniform, striped stockings, and knee high boots.
Baby 5: you look like a doll.
She said smiling.
Doflamingo: Aw how cute you look so much better than before.
You : I feel the draft...
Doflamingo: FUFUFUFU you're a funny girl
He walks over to you and caresses your cheek, he's so much taller than you.
Doflamingo; say thank you...
You; thank you...
He grabs your chin, you wince in pain from his pinching.
Doflamingo; say it right, doll face.
You; thank you, master Doflamingo.....
Doflamingo lets go and pats you on the cheek.
Doflamingo; good girl
incineratetowel mountains: delicate as onion paper & Bible secrets.
whispers in the thread count; sheepish and cotton.
wave at the mountain lion. the attack draws inevitably near.
lack of fear, they say, is the best handicap.
freed from fright, flight flowers from fingertips.
smiles on lips that do not kiss.
arms of boys holding on for too long.
burning mansions: the interior lit itself on fire.
gasoline stoves and a ceramic fireplace.
the whole ordeal pounds against eardrums.
to punch or be kindled; ignition is tricky business.
anthology spines and rigid binds.
10,000 librarian hands setting root in alleviation.
reading glasses sit undisturbed, taking a break from nose-oil.
smoke stacks and kilns.
we are ablaze, fighting for neck kisses and palm readings.
all the flames in the world could not keep us burning.
Fatal AttractionEven when it's over,
you look me in the eye and lie,
shrug me off with a smile, or a chuckle
and swear this is not goodbye.
Nearly a decade has passed,
and I still fear the words you play,
I fear they'll drag me into the endless melodies,
of the moans and sweat -of other men-
that linger in your sheets.
you clutch to me, clip my wings
and use your entire arsenal,
to stop me from walking out of the gardens of your soul.
suddenly I am your glorious hero,
The god of fates and wine,
and those little scribbles you call poems,
are my ever darkening confines.
Nothing hurts anymore,
so kill me now,
or after a couple poisonous bites,
gently clean the crust of your insincerity
and treat the wounds that never cease to bleed,
and leave a moist kiss against my lips,
for even in death, I still thirst for your embrace.
Still Oxidizinglast night
i read the
and when i saw
your name wasn't dead
decaying or rusting
rotting in a forest
mingling with a pile of
ashes, i realized
you really could
live without me
authoring the authorsembrace of facial recognition
and plaster of paris
and daintily fashioned
you are a smattering
of modern distances
from the ancient world.
twirling every gaze around your flex,
they're paying their respects
in shaded clicks and dubious poetry.
flaunting your vaults
with crisp scissor steps
and curt greetings,
your instant grammatolatry
curses and twists their spines
with formulaic adoration.
without your disasters
they would not
Parapines Fanfiction Challenge #22Fanfiction Challenge: #22 Memories
It was quiet for almost a whole week. Dipper remembered that he had been bored, and he remembered sitting outside, even though it was ridiculously hot.
"That's good. Do you remember what day that was?"
"Uhh..." Dipper tried to remember, but he told the doctor that he wasn't sure.
Norman frowned. What had he done? He let Dipper go down that path alone, even though nearly six different ghosts told him to stay away from there. He shouldn't have given in to Dipper's pleas about properly investigating and uncovering the unknown. This was the last time he let Dipper do anything alone.
He glanced at Mabel, who was standing on a chair so she could see out the tiny window in the hospital room. He couldn't even imagine what she was thinking about all this. Granted, she might not be thinking at all, given the look on her face. It was as though she was doing everything to not interact with her brother since they realized he had amnesia.
"Do you know which month i
Suicidal Tendenciescourage doesn't come
from the fibers you're
born with. You aren't
brave when you decide
when you wake
up in the bed
smeared with your
own self destruction
and you act as though
you aren't crumbling
into the carpet.
or when you hold
a piece of shrapnel
to your veins and
want to sever every last
one, but you throw it
out the window.
or when you stand
on the sunset
with clouds straddling
your mind and your
whole existence ready
to hurl itself over the
railing, but you limp
home and through the screen
door and pretend to walk
on air again.
That is bravery.
One Piece OC Wardrobe 30 Day Challenge1. East Blue
2. Little Garden
3. Drum Island
7. Davy Back
8. Water 7
9. Eneis Lobby
10. Thriller Bark
11. Spa Island
12. Sabaody Archipelago
13. Amazon Lily
14. Impel Down and Marineford
15. Fishman Island
16. Punk Hazard
18. World Noble
19. Strong World – Casual
20. Strong World – Formal
21. Movie Z
22. Original Arc
23. Typical Home Island Outfit
26. Stereotypical Pirate Wear
28. Holiday (Choose the major holiday of whatever month it is)
30. Favorite Crew
the widowshe sits in a bathtub,
drenched in the warmth of late afternoon,
and wonders about love.
it is cliche.
it is also important.
her fingers slide along her
chest, counting the hidden scars.
seventeen that she can feel,
more that she can't.
but that isn't important,
not right now,
because she's thinking about love.
it isn't passion she remembers,
not fingernail scratches or gasps
or quiet suggestions that maybe
the slipper-socks should come off.
she doesn't think about the secret smiles,
or the smell of cinnamon,
or even the voice saying i love you, you know
[because she did know].
she thinks about silence
about those moments in between breaths,
in between heartbeats,
in between words.
she thinks about how tangible
it was, how soft and warm and light
and then she thinks about the
silence that's with her now,
the silence that's seeping through
splashing in her lungs,
hovering in her head.
she looks at the razor she's been holding for an hour.
she looks at the paper-thin sk
the center of the universewhen i die, the earth will remain unchanged.
mountains will still soar above the plains, and
the moon will stay in control of the oceans,
repeating its orbit around our planet.
when i die, cities in africa will remain the same.
buildings will not tumble to the ground, and
the citizens will go about their daily lives,
repeating their orbit around the sun.
bound in retrospectpart i.
about wreckage and dreaming,
about nights wept weary,
and how city limits
compress to claim you
when you run.
away early mo(u)rning
and choosing dark over light;
how eventually i stopped
wishing upon stars
what’s the point.
there is no true way
for someone this self-conscious
to let loose streams of
but i'm trying.
you are an immersion
racing down my spine,
along vertebrae as if
they belong to you
but they shouldn’t,
you are long-limbed eyelashes,
a study in faux-reluctance.
you are a cage
i never could penetrate
although you never had much trouble
ignoring my reluctance;
penetration became a game
i never won.
this was never a love story,
but add enough adjective
and i guess it can be
whatever you want it to be.
warped to your ideal,
turn me to my better angle
and hide the flaws;
hide the fa