— but the ache of living never fades | a.c. for @svcredstars | want one? (via inkmagician) —

tell me again how we drowned ourselves in the community pool
last august. filled ourselves with crimes and sank like sorrow
 
to the bottom. remember? even when our bodies broke themselves
trying to float, our hearts were paperweights. tell me about
 
how we caught rays of sunlight and tangled them in our skins,
kissed the sins out of each other until we were holy once more.
 
tell me how we pretended the chlorine water was angel tears,
rinsed our corpses with shaking fingers and abandoned them
 
when we were clean. we wouldn’t need them anymore.

— a.c. | check out my chapbook unmythologize! (via financialplans) —

two heartbreaks past midnight & we’re
shudder-speeding down the highway,
holding light to our chests & stars
to our eyes. driving with the windows down
& sky kissing us farewell. you, wishing
for city lights on passing cars, framed
against the open mouth of the window,
moonlight tangled in hair. saying ‘my god
the smallness here suffocates me,
don’t you feel the air holding onto your breath?
sometimes i want to rip out my bones
& build a castle, just to be real &
beautiful, you know?’ me nodding &
the nod is a lie. me thinking about beauty
& pinky-promises & other sacred things,
about how the world is in love with you
but you’ve never loved easy. no,
you love whole & unrequited,
things that can’t ever fit in your palms,
wolf teeth & urban streets & things
that would sooner bite than love back.

— Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain (via illuminosity) —

I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy.

— excerpt from in another world, andromeda is a galaxy | published in UNMYTHOLOGIZE (via inkmagician) —

in another world, i do not wait for you & your hero heart, your restless fingers to unchain me. i etch my own name in the stars, and with every bloodied fingertip i leave the legacy of a girl who was not afraid.

— after the earthquake | a.c. for @existential-celestial | want one? (via inkmagician) —

i. five a.m. dreaming out the windows, eyes open and doors unlocked. chopin’s nocturnes on repeat as if i can somehow fill this cavity with moonlight in the form of a song.
 
ii. tell me, have you ever felt like a thousand pieces of a thousand people all at once?
 
iii. this is a lullaby, or perhaps an apology to myself. i’ve forgotten what it means to sleep without the flutter of your heartbeat next to mine.
 
iv. sometimes i feel like a dozen tectonic plates always shifting, never at rest. there’s a chasm between my ribs and i named it after you.
 
v. friday night dancing under the streetlights, a song in my throat as i build myself up from the ground. still learning how to pick myself out of the shipwreck, still learning to accommodate the fracture lines across my skin.
 
vi. i am the thousand people i’ve been before, i am the thousand people i have yet to be. i am learning to love every one.

cogito-ergo-dumb:

my heart: swells momentarily with affection for The Boy
me: cautious as I know that any minute he’s going to do something idiotic and ruin everything

— Louise Glück, excerpt of Aboriginal Landscape (via antigonick) —

I was like you once, he added, in love with turbulence.