The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."
My memories are suddenly sunburnt,
each ear you’ve lived in, is slowly burning red
All those sounds, falling like autumn leaves, and
images shrieking at the top of their voices.
Their throats are raw.
Everything, everything is slowly disappearing.
Like watching a movie on rewind,
all the disembodied sadness is
rising, like a cloud, above my head, sucking
it’s rain back to itself. My hair is finally drying.
I’ve bitten all my nails, hoping
it’s harder to hold on
and it is.
I’m finally letting go.
Is it still suicide,
if it’s not
your own rivers
you are drowning in?
Mornings are never
easy for me, I can never
get used to watching
our bodies part
on these unsettled sheets.
My hands speak
I’ve never learned,
until my tongue, refuses
to sing your song,
only so, my ears
never get too used to,
my favorite song.
The cigarettes you light one after another won’t help you forget her."
"We never even dated…"
You were supposed to be warm cherry chai
in the winters of my life,but you turned out to be
as cold as the ice in all of my iced-teas.
You were supposed to be my liquid courage,
but you turned out to be, the very reason my knees get weak.
Everybody says, give it time, one day you will fall,
fall for another guy, but how do I tell them
I can’t fall, when I’ve already fallen.
There’s no further down, when you’re already on the ground.
How do I tell them, I need to get back up, to fall again.
How do I tell them, I’ve dreamed about messing your hair up
so much, I find myself pulling my own hair out.
How do I tell them, that when I do pull some out,
it doesn’t sting as much as my heart does, when you ignore me.
How do I stop this stinging, when sometimes it’s all I can feel.
And I know you don’t owe me anything, I know
but how do I stop fantasizing about you holding my hand
instead of hers. Why does it hurt me, when you look at the other girls,
the way I always dreamed you would look at me.
I don’t know if I should call them dreams anymore or nightmares,
when all I see, everytime I close my eyes, is your arms around me.
"So many people know me.
I wish I did.
I wish someone would tell me about me."
— Joseph L. Mankiewicz (via ne0ntigress)
Brandy stained jeans,
hair full of smokey streams.
The sweat of my palms
washed the last of your touch away.