(Source: knicksandknacks)

1st September, MondayReblog

I didnt really wanna drink again tonight but my uncle bought me drinks and i feel obligated to drink them.

1st September, MondayReblog
And like all lovers and sad people, I am a poet.

— Kill Your Darlings (2013)

1st September, MondayReblog
You kiss me with your mouth wide open like you’re not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.

— Anita Ofokansi, Literary Sexts (via dirtydamsel)

(Source: larmoyante)

1st September, MondayReblog
I wasn’t actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.

—  Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. (via wordsnquotes)

1st September, MondayReblog

Here is my confession:
a conversation starter —
I like to set fires in my own heart.
You, a blessed rag doll.
You, venetian blinds,
a moth-eaten curtain.

Change the subject —
sometimes I wander the streets of my mind
wearing nothing but a lit cigarette.
I don’t smoke,
except after sex or
getting my heart broken, or all the time,
for that matter.

Tell me about yourself —
have you never been married to the moon?
It must be lonely out there,
counting stars by yourself.
I would kiss you,
but I’ve never been good at falling in love.
Neither have you, you say,
and we smile in the way
that does not reach our eyes.

A conclusion and parting —
we could’ve been a desert storm,
hearts blazing in a field of daisies
and tobacco lungs.
I have never touched your skin,
but here is my sorrow.
Take it — this is your attrition.

Walk east, kiss the sun,
and please forget my name.

— Conversations by a Hospital Bed | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)

1st September, MondayReblog
Once I found a butterfly’s wing on the sidewalk.
I wanted to keep it, but I didn’t.
I knew there were things I should never find beautiful.
Like death. And girls.

— Andrea Gibson, “Crab Apple Pirates” (via overwhelmington)

(Source: millionen)

1st September, MondayReblog

Back home, the girls are not soft —
they pit peaches with their teeth,
drink sadness like they’re starving.

They always dance alone,
listen to songs with lyrics
about strawberry wine.

They blossom like beer bottles,
wear october on their shins,
split open, screaming —

a foreign rose
just aching
for a fight.

— The Girls Back Home | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)

1st September, MondayReblog
You are not the only heart
I have swallowed.
You are not the only hand
that feels love backwards.

Caitlyn Siehl, from Four in the Morning (via alonesomes)

(Source: wecouldbeheroes-loverswecouldbe)

1st September, MondayReblog
0 to 100

0 to 100

1st September, MondayReblog


life hack: make out w/ me and tell me i’m cute

1st September, MondayReblog


1st September, MondayReblog
I know the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started.
31st August, SundayReblog



I wanna be cuddled right now and have my back rubbed until I fall asleep.

Yes please!

(Source: purplenightsky69)

31st August, SundayReblog
What if I told you I’m incapable of tolerating my own heart?

— Virginia Woolf, Night and Day (via volaream)

(Source: volaream)

31st August, SundayReblog