you chug a fifth of alcohol by yourself & everyone around you is too busy cheering to wonder how empty you had to be in order to do it

— This fucked me up (via obsessiveloserr)

20th October, MondayReblog

i. The phone is ringing off of the hook but I never quite got the
chance to answer. Too many hellos end in goodbye.
ii. There are blue veins in my wrist playing target to more important
things and I am begging my eyes not to notice.
iii. I am holding my breath, never long enough to pass out,
never long enough to suffocate, never long enough to go blue in the face,
just long enough to remember that I’m still fighting
to survive.
iv. I am shivering, not from the cold but from the unknown.
v. My phone screen lights up blue brightly kissing the dark goodbye,
and I don’t know how to be more like a phone;
programmed to allow things to depart when they’ve already ended. 
vi. He tells me he likes me and I can already brace myself for the long
marathon my feet are about to start. 

20th October, MondayReblog

(Source: lemaddyart)

Don’t kiss me if you’re afraid of thunder. My life is a storm.

— Anita Krizzan (via quotethat)

20th October, MondayReblog

YOU ARE THE KIND OF SCAR
I DO NOT WANT TO WRITE ABOUT,
I SAY IN THE FIFTH POEM I HAVE WRITTEN ABOUT YOU.

HOW COME MY WORDS FUCKING HATE YOU SO MUCH?
HOW COME THEY ARE ALWAYS SO HUNGRY FOR YOU?

HOW COME I FUCKING HATE YOU SO MUCH?
HOW COME I’M ALWAYS SO
HUNGRY FOR YOU?

IT GOES LIKE THIS: I TELL YOU THAT I’M LEAVING
AND YOU HOLD MY HEAD UNDER WATER.
“MY HEART WAS SO GOOD FOR YOU,” YOU SAY.

“NO,” I TELL YOU. “YOUR HEART WAS A CEMETERY,
A GRAVEYARD, A MORGUE.
YOUR HEART WAS THE DEATH OF ME.”

MY MOTHER THINKS THAT
MAYBE IT WAS YOUR CHIPPED-ICE HANDS,
THE BROAD OAK TREE IN YOUR BACK YARD, THAT MAYBE
IT WAS THE CIGARETTE SMOKE.

THAT MAYBE IT WAS YOUR MOUTH, THAT
MOUTH ALL TIED UP WITH SECRETS
YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO,
MAYBE IT WAS YOUR MOUTH
BECAUSE IT WAS THE UGLIEST THING ABOUT YOU.

THAT MAYBE IT WAS MY BODY LYING
NAKED ON THE FLOOR, MAYBE IT WAS
THE BLOOD UNDER MY FINGERNAILS, THAT MAYBE IT WAS
SUPPOSED TO BE BEAUTIFUL.

THAT MAYBE YOUR TEETH
WERE THE WHITEST THINGS I’D EVER SEEN,
MAYBE I WAS SICK FOR YOU, BOY,
MAYBE I WAS ON MY FUCKING KNEES. BUT STILL —

I AM A CAT SCRATCHED JAW, I AM BLEEDING
OUT THE BELLY.

I AM SO MUCH MORE THAN A COFFIN
YOU CAN BURN.

— Valentine’s Day | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)

20th October, MondayReblog

i. I think the best advice someone gave me was:  ”You’re going to be
someone you don’t want to be at some point in life, but that doesn’t
mean you shred every ounce of the being you are. It just means you
try to love yourself harder than you hate the hands you were given.” 

ii. It’s been so long since I’ve looked in the mirror expecting a monster
with evil eyes. Maybe this is getting better, maybe seeing the bruises
on my skin is 
called trying.

iii. Yesterday’s promises are the reason our veins look scattered. It’s
okay that the world forgot to mend us back together
before eating our hearts. It’s okay to forgive even when the scars
still hurt some days.

iv. Your hands aren’t locks and it’s taken me too damn long to hold on to
ash when the wind was just trying to save me some trouble
by blowing it away. 

v. There’s dirt under my nails for every grave I tried to dig,
and I’m still trying to wash away the guilt.

vi. I think the second best advice I ever got was: “Your neck is never
as broken as your pride will be, so learn to hold your head high. 
Even after you’ve fallen. Even after you’ve choked on your own blood.
Even after you have spent a year on the ground begging
for a better home than your bones.”

19th October, SundayReblog
The key to life is learning how to love without tearing bits and pieces of yourself apart.

— 4/5/2014 - Some people won’t deserve the parts of yourself that you hand them. And that’s okay.

19th October, SundayReblog

(Source: anamorphosis-and-isolate)

(Source: excdus)

Past lovers are nothing more than ghosts.

When somebody you love begins to walk away, they already left long before their feet started moving. Let them go. 

19th October, SundayReblog