guns ablazin'
I encourage you to ride this strange wind that is blowing through you; to ride it to wherever it will carry you.
Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume (via talisman)

(Source: secretlypartmermaid, via phocks)


my aesthetic: a potted cactus on a skateboard, always moving, no one knows where it came from or where it’s going

(Source: ralphfilthy, via maryyannneeee)





There’s no need to go and fight for oil over sea, in between my lover’s legs, that’s slick enough for me. See, in the director’s cut of the movie of my life, you are the eternity of never before seen footage. And I just want my eyesight to get worse. I want to cancel my prescriptions just so I’ll go blind, and learn to see the world through your descriptions. I could spend all night renewing my subscriptions to your skin, because your articles are better written in brail. And who needs the latest issue of “time”, when I could find forever in the hourglass of your body.

I could build a future between your thighs, then look into your eyes trying to find my own private history channel with a life-long documentary on whether or not this was meant to be. And I don’t want to turn any of this into poetry, but you’re so beautiful flowers turn their heads to smell you

And when I’m all alone, I’m rifling through the pockets in the back of my mind trying to find spare excuses just so I can call you on the phone. And it’s strange the way I need a reason just to call you up and say that I thought about you today, and the way your hair spirals down like corkscrews made of solid silk. And yesterday I saw a picture of truth on the back of a carton of milk. It was missing, and I’d like to look for it in the lost and found of your lips, because truth be told I’d rather be kissing

But I am afraid of what you’d say if I told you that, “I like you”, and not in a friendly way. And I know it sounds cliché, but if life is a highway and we’re just barrelling down it in an out-of-control car, then I just want to hold onto you like you were the oh-shit bar, because I am afraid.

See, my life was so much simpler way back when I could just disappear, but now it’s like I want to press my ear to your ear, like two seashells trying to hear the sounds of the ocean. This emotion rolling in and out like, breathing, in and out like, breathing, in and out like, breathing.

And you know I’ve loved women like I was only a breath of air, necessary, but so unnoticed it was like I was never there. But with you; goddamn.

I am a serial lover. I’m leaving behind fingerprints like it was evidence that I was there, leaving behind strands of my hair on your sweater when I hug you goodbye. I am slowly becoming a fact. And I am afraid that I’ll be tracked back to the days when I was like Popeye without the spinach, because even now sometimes I feel like I’m just one enormous Achilles heel. 

I keep having nightmares that someone is trying to steal my life right out from under me. It’s got me curling up into a foetal position, wishing I could dream some way into your arms, but the problem with dreams is that all of the alarms start ringing, like they were singing the sound of the music I have to face. Like the sound of the music I have to face is the morning adorning me with the reality that maybe you’re not looking for anybody right now.

But how many more uses can we invent of the excuses, I’m sorry, we should just be friends because, you know, times are tough things are rough. All of those apologies that made us feel
like we were never beautiful enough
 when beautiful is all we ever wanted to be. I would chop down my own family tree to make paper, and write out a hundred different poems explaining how beautiful you are to me. Like your skin is where silkworms gather to understand things like softness. And you know I could go on, but I’ve been aboard that friend ship for so long that I’m seasick and vomiting over the edge while dreaming of mutiny. 

We live our lives under the scrutiny of a world that rewards confidence over eloquence, but if uncertainty is the only thing that’s keeping us apart then I just want to hop that fence, strip you down to your confusions, and spend all night making… sense to you. Because we’re not waiting, we’re hesitating.

And I’ve lived my life watching love slip through my hands like time, like the tick-tock of a melting Salvador Dali clock. When I’m with you I stalk every minute, as if looking at it long enough I could find eternity in it. And holding you, I would slit the wrists on the hands of a clock if I thought it could make that moment last forever. And truth be told, you were never on my list of things to do, but my life became a bumper sticker the moment I met you. It’s true; shit actually happens.

And I’m afraid that I’ve strayed too far down the shopping isle. I’ve watched stock boys file true love under relationships in a can, and you know I’m not sure there is a grand plan. I’ve seen a praying mantis lose faith, but I want to believe that you think about me when I’m not around, that the sound of my voice on the phone is enough to reassure you if you’re feeling afraid.

It’s okay you’re not so completely alone.

      - Shane Koyczan


The tea has been spilled and it’s scalding
She tastes like nectar and salt. Nectar and salt and apples. Pollen and stars and hinges. She tastes like fairy tales. Swan maiden at midnight. Cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue. She tastes like hope.
Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bone  (via bodhisattva-belladonna)

(Source: h-o-r-n-g-r-y, via phocks)

Anonymous asked:
im in love w you