A continuous collection of smudged screens and illiterate ink.

you'd let her (mis)lead you off of a cliff.

I taste the good and bad in you and want them both

(via 7-weeks)

I want to make up

for all the love you never

thought that you deserved.

- Haiku on Priorities | Connotativewords | jl  (via connotativewords)

(via connotativewords)

You told her that you knew.
You knew
that you could kill someone
with just one move,
with just a single word.

Now, why
do you have to hurt her
- not once nor twice
but, countless times -
when from the very start,
you knew that
someone might die
because of you?

You killed,
not just a random person
who has your own flesh;
who has the same blood
as yours;
and someone,
who carries your own name

- Mister, you killed your own daughter, 10:40, 09/15/14 
(via dontaskhernamee)

Check it out » "come on love, draw your swords"



I give you my heart, or a piece of it at least, on a wooden toothpick. The toothpick gives you a splinter in your tongue so I have no choice but to suck it out. Five years in, we don’t look at each other when we’re talking. We only kiss in a platonic way. I cry at lousy…






and that’s why you don’t go around fixing people

and that’s why you don’t give up pieces of yourself to make someone else whole

We do this more than we think. Sometimes we reject those who have helped us the most. Other times, we help those who allow their egos to hide their humilities.











it may take time but there is someone waiting to hold your hand

My tears

(Source: sigi0, via anothervoice7secrets7)

You hardly meet the people you can talk with forever. About nothing and everything, indefinite, together. - (via perfectionisodd)

(via perfectionisodd)

I can’t control the things that have happened
but I can change where I go from here

I don’t want to be just another statistic formed from affliction
or an excuse to exemplify my behaviors
and not take responsibility for the darkness that rests in my soul
which occasionally seeps out and cancels the light of the sunshine smiles
and flower petal fingertips of others

I don’t think I know what to do with happiness
…I’m not sure if I will ever know what to do with it
…and that’s okay

Perhaps I’ll save it for one of those rainy days
…you know, not the ones where you can look out the door and watch droplets race down the glass,
but the ones where it’s raining on the inside
and the fog clouds all judgment of the brain
while the sticky air feels heavy inside of your lungs

And maybe your smile will make me smile
and maybe hugs can heal
and maybe one day this will all make sense

But I don’t think we can ever decide what a life we’ve led
until we get to the very end, turn around, and say:
“I’ve won.”

And the pains and troubles that come with surviving instead of living
will disintegrate into the sky to form new stars
because they’re all born from tragedy

I can’t control the things that have happened
but I can change where I go from here

- Alexis H., Where I’ve been V.S. Where I’m going  (via lostsoulstravelhere)
My lips are burning with the words
of an apology that I want so desperately
to spill at your feet because you have
a way of making me feel sorry for
things I don’t even know I did but
it’s time I learned to feel the spine that
runs along my back and realize that
I don’t need to apologize for something
you can’t seem to control within me
and right now, the only thing that
I am guilty of is killing the girl inside of
me for the sake of your conditional love.
- I am done saying sorry to stone walls and cracked pavements (via ink-trails)
we gave up on what
we thought was love, but it was
not it. It was not.
- Amanda Helm, Haikus (28)

(via amandaspoetry)

Here the children have a custom. After the
celebration of
evil they take those vacant heads that
shone once with such
anguish and glee and throw them over the
bridge, watching
the smash, orange, as they hit below. We
were standing
underneath when you told it. People do
that with them-
selves when they are finished, light
scooped out. He landed
here, you said, marking it with your foot.

You wouldn’t do it that way, empty, you
wouldn’t wait,
you would jump with the light still in you.
- Margaret Atwood, “Eating fire,” from Circe/Mud Poems (via lifeinpoetry)

(via alonesomes)

I fell in love with a ghost,
A tepid Summer’s breeze, an ocean wave;
My heart beats for something ephemeral,
Bordering on the line of existent and not.

I fell in love with a spirit,
And like children on Halloween
With dirty feet and faeries’ wings
March door-to-door,
Naïvely asking strangers for the good they give,
So you sat in the doorway of my soul,
Lingering and damned if I know.

I fell in love with a poltergeist;
A frenzy, a flurry of emotional pain.
He tore off the flowers of my dandelion heart,
Now pieces of me are floating in the ocean breeze,
White wisps that disappear without a trace;
Fragments of beauty that never grew.

I fell in love with a demon
Masked as a ghost;
I communicate through talons and ouija boards,
But yield no response.
I’ve set a fire in my chest
So he can feel at home here.
He must have existed the doorway,
I cannot feel a trace of him
In the ghosts he left within.

- I Fell in Love with a Ghost (via 49dusks)

(via 49dusks)

It starts with a bang;
Were universes born of atoms,
Or do hearts pumps stars like
The fires of our enmity?

Fragile condensation,
But the cold inside me did not outweigh
What subtle clash this vein of
Cosmic entropy did bring.

In theory, the strings of fate
Were cut by Cupid’s arrow,
Now look what a world of
Heartbreak has formed inside of me.

I can feel the course of hydrogen atoms
Lifting up the weight of the world,
An infinite pleasure we took from the masses;
Centrifugal from starting point, a place I’d never felt before.

I wonder if the Universe weighs down on itself,
For now we’re stuck in parallels,
Reaching towards the nether end
And on we go towards zero.

- Towards Zero (via 49dusks)

(via 49dusks)

Check it out » http://verrloren-reblogs.tumblr.com/post/97391282188/fiverrwasright-i-still-miss-chalk-dust-on-my


I still miss chalk dust on my knees. Try to say it like you don’t care. Try to say it with a grin. Now say it likes ol’ Bugz, alright, eh, what’s up doc? Pagurek’s art under an opaque sky, flickering in white wilderness & Arlette hanging over the balcony, arm draped on metal…


The magnitude
With which we care
Is inversely proportional
To the capacity we have
To be hurt

(via remnantsofapoetreblogs)

Please, I beg for sleep,
a dream or some time away,
I can’t bear to stay.
- Daily Haiku #174 Jared M. (via remnantsofapoet)

(via justanotherforgottenpoet)