The lights illuminating the city,
are marks left by arsonists.
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Decline Some days I trip over my words.Decline by ~BookThiefx
When I speak, I stutter in fear of falling.
'What's up?'
'The uhh urr uhmm that w-w-ay
Maybe it's best I didn't answer.
Or I preplanned my answers with something witty, that would get everyone to stop asking
what the fuck is up.
Some days I slip on my thoughts.
They spill out of me like water, I don't even know how they take form.
They kind of, just pour. Like a liquid, or a fluid.
I can't organize them, and like all fluids, they have no premade form.
Some days I tumble down on my pride.
When I think I can do something, or that I have accomplished something, I kind of just lapse, and spiral dow
Sukkot, Comics, And Literature Somehow linked together on this Shabbat, is the holiday of Sukkot, comic books, and literature.Sukkot, Comics, And Literature by ~BookThiefx
Somehow linked together on this Shabbat are school, and love and hate and knowledge and education and too many ands.
This apikoros in particular does not know how, but somehow, all the things she loves and hates and knows are linked together.
Is typing on Shabbat considered writing?
Where The Lake Hides The trees, houses and unpaved roads have equator-like paths.Where The Lake Hides by ~BookThiefx
They lead beyond.
Tree stumps.
Leaves.
Twigs.
Rocks.
Branches.
Maple roots.
Insects.
They reveal parts of the lake I've never seen before.
Parts of the lake I didn't know existed.
Parts of the lake I've never swam it.
Lara's dad said the lake is just a damned up river.
That makes sense.
I saw the unfinished houses.
Covered in plastic wrap.
Glassless windows.
Locked unfinished locked doors.
Views of the lake.
Perfect views of the lake.
I guess the recession hit here before there.
The houses never finished.
The fish jump out of the water, then fell back in, penet
Maybe Perhaps To be we don't have to have been.Maybe Perhaps by ~BookThiefx
A baby taking form in it's mother's stomach is being, is to be, but once wasn't.
Buddha said that everything that came together will eventually fall apart.
Scientists couldn't figure this out until a thousand years after his death.
The chair I'm sitting on, it will fall apart, hopefully it will fall apart before I do.
You will fall apart. You are made up of atoms, and cells, and organs that came together, and as a simple fact of life, biology, and Buddhism philosophy, you will fall apart.
Atlas She held the cigarette to her ruby velvet lipsAtlas by ~radioactive-muse
And let the flame lick the end while she inhaled.
Dusty smoke filled her lungs as she exhaled in relief,
Exhausted by the weight piled on her shoulders.
Like Atlas who carried the earth, she too carried a world,
And she wondered when her spine would finally collapse.
She could feel her vertebrae splintering under the weight,
But still she carried on, eyes towards the heavens,
Trying to make sure no stars would crash into her planet.
She looked into the world she held and became disgusted.
Once a masterpiece, it now turned sour with plague.
The sunflowers were rotting and the seas were
THREE DAYS FROM NOW for Daniela Jara's 20th birthday on 6.21.04THREE DAYS FROM NOW by ~foxthepoet
three days from now
she will rise up to the playground of angels
fighter jets and zeppelins
burst open the door
translate her body into an equation
of one–hundred twenty pounds moving
nine–point–eight meters per second per second
and tumble from heaven
because she wants to taste the sky
on her birthday
this is the part of the poem
where I should drop metaphors
about falling in love with her
or how she's already fallen from heaven once
or something about shooting stars
or glass ceilings
but this isn't a love poem
I said I would fall alongside her
stretch out fingers to find h
hydrangeas hydrangeashydrangeas by ~username112
when i was five, loneliness killed my mother.
i'd watch as she'd sleep, her hair spread in a golden,
angelic halo that dead people usually get. and under
her mattress, in a place she probably forgot about, sleeps
a thumbprint photo of a man with sand-colored skin
and burnt brown hair--
one i don't want to remember.
she'd lie in the heat, chalky as an overcast sky,
letting a fervid maine sun warm her shivering
fingers. her hair grew thinner, like Christmas
tinsel carefully taken down the tree in March.
when i was six, my mother found Bruce.
he looked and sounded like a bulldog--a raspy voice
and short, wh
the taste of atmosphere. i.the taste of atmosphere. by *iLISI
caught in between electrical outlets and atoms
of charged stratosphere, you ignored the burnt bridges and
readied your bound parachute wings to sail us
across the gaping wound that they sewed together with
stitches like mountains, deep and rough and rainy.
iii.
when i was nine i forgot how to fly because i learned
the face of fear and i saw all the skeletons in her closet
before i pulled my eyelids closed like blinds. but they couldn't
stop my brain from skipping over the same scene in black
and white, the dead flesh of an ancient grainy movie in my head.
v.
wires snaked across the ground and became the s
| I'm telling you, we're going to need a little help tonight. |
--
must've stabbed him 50 fucking times
ripped his heart out right before his eyes
-----
the names Luna Kat! dun forget it!
-----
Misha's Minions
--
"Our freedom's a joke.
We're just taking a piss."
--
must've stabbed him 50 fucking times
ripped his heart out right before his eyes
-----
the names Luna Kat! dun forget it!
-----
Misha's Minions
--
"Our freedom's a joke.
We're just taking a piss."
--
jestem lżejsza od fotografii z których będziesz mnie teraz wycinać
--
Judging others doesn't define who they are. It defines who you are.
--
無法移動的夢想 就算沒有人鼓掌 我也不會受傷
不會稀釋的信仰 心
--
*smacks face* noodles.
--
'Time / drunk and damp, / everything burning, / everything wet, / everything fine.' (Charles Bukowski)