Perhaps I should invest in
sleeping pills since I can
no longer find a way to, -

I cannot sleep as
peacefully as I, -
I used to.

I used to.

How do you
delete memories?

I would give
anything for just a
moment where your name does not
cross my mind.

With how you act
towards me, -
not even the smallest part
of you belongs there.

I keep thinking of the
first time that you
ever visited me up at
college. I think that, -
I think that might’ve been the
happiest moment of my

I was so nervous because I
was caught by
surprise, - I could not believe that anyone could ever care that
much for me.

I keep thinking of when you
started to pay more attention to your
phone than me.

Like in Starbucks when all I wanted
was to talk and all you wanted
was to look at a new type of
car that interested you.

I tried to be excited for you, - I did.
But I knew well enough why
you wanted that new car, -
I knew that it was not
to impress me.

I keep thinking of the
worst moment and
day of my life, - when I
looked you in the
eyes and pleaded with you to
spend the night out with
me on the fifth of
July. I remember that your
friend was in the other room and I remember that I did not want to
cry in front of him when I heard what I
knew you’d say.

That I couldn’t come with
you, - but that you loved me, -
but that you needed me
to leave.

Why you could not tell me that I
couldn’t spend the night with you
until after two hours of
ditching me for your silent
friend is
beyond me.

We both know that was why you were
standing in your room fidgeting with
your fingertips and
knuckles right when you came back
from work when I even
leant you my
car so that you would
not have to pay for a taxi.

You had decided perhaps even
before I leant you my car…

I hate thinking of that day.

Tell me this is all just a
dream, - and that I will soon
awake to the moment after I
wrote that first
poem about you.

It turns out that, -
one was all you deserved.

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.

Sylvia Plath (via introspectivepoet)

(Source: goodreads.com)

The wind is the moon’s imagination wandering.
Saul Williams (via observando)
Why else keep a journal, if not
to examine your own filth?


After you die

your life will be etched

forever in the way

you made love.

Like a brush fire

torching dried hay.

When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
Haruki Murakami (via purplebuddhaproject)


why do girls have fake pockets when guys can fit a laptop in theirs 

I heard mount Everest was a woman with
So much gold in her pockets she could
Buy god’s soul if she wanted it.
I heard that once, god showed one fingernail to everyone on earth
and that they all crumbled apart from her.
I heard she had a heart like leather—
A heart so soft that they made pillows
In heaven out of it—
A heart so strong it went on forever.
I heard god decided to test it—
I heard he asked her to be a mountain
if she really wanted him—
To stand proudly forever beneath him.
And he whispered, kissed, moved her so hard she became one—
Moved her so hard she forgot the colour
of her eyes.
Moved her so hard she forgot how to open them.
So in geography class when the teacher
asks, how does a mountain become a mountain?
I say, the same way a human struggles to be human after love.

Salma Deera, Mountains as humansppetry (via writingwillows)


a young man going
through each day slowly
accumulating the experience
of suffering like a crack in the roof that
fills a bucket with drop by drop of rain

asks out loud, why is there suffering?

an echo comes back, no reason.

To feel most beautifully alive means to be reading something beautiful, ready always to apprehend in the flow of language the sudden flash of poetry.
Gaston Bachelard (via observando)

Sometimes I really just hate my life. Going to the gym to try and breathe again.

there are universes where i never kissed you
i never learned what it was like
when you stopped kissing back
or how quickly intimacy becomes
bruised knees in the backseat
of your father’s station wagon, trying
not to let you hear me cry over the sound
of the music that only you like and
in some universes you might still
love me like how you used to like
how you would nuzzle against my neck
and ask for more time cuddling in bed and
you’d hunt for my hand to hold no matter
the situation
in some universes maybe i even
take that for granted

but i can’t remember the last time you meant
those three little words when they fell out of
your lips because recently all it’s been
are half-truths and stutterings when you think
you’ve got to say something

in some universes i am not picturing her hair
spread across your pillow or how her laugh
punctures the air or how she fits so much better
against your body
than i ever did
and in some universes i never tasted you
so i haven’t started brushing my teeth
until i bleed and when i lie down at night
i just go to sleep i don’t stay up

how it is possible
i never saw all of this

Did you ever love me or was I just dreaming? (2/2) /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)