As the minute hand ticks by my resolve exponentially decreases

Jul 29 16:24

In the hour after I wake from a short nap my mind rejects any form of work and I feel unbearably cold, achey and small- too tired to deal w the rest of the night and especially so tonight

Ok but GP today was temporary satisfaction, at least

Do you ever read stuff you wrote when you were /in the zone/ and just think w o w I never knew I had that in me??? ‘Tis a good feeling HAHA but need it to happen for H3 now
Jul 29 8:05

This is the kind of love poem
that cleans my name from between your thighs—
only to lay it back into your mouth gentle and inviting so that I might hear the sound of me from you again soon. Maybe broken, maybe croaked and vulnerable in the quiver of your descent but if I didn’t crack something inside of you between these sheets tonight then clearly I’m not finished yet. I’d like to say that this – this is all rust, all familiar, all been there before and stained-worn over time; but tell me, does it scare you as much as me to say that all I see when I see you is rain? All fresh; all foundation, nothing but tender against my cheek despite the cold. This, this isn’t the love poem that gets dirty, but stands with bare feet in the clinging mud after your dark, lust storm and says I’d love you so hard you’d grow from it. I am transparent for you, all sweaty palms and unlocked knees.

This isn’t the kind of love poem that knows temporary, this isn’t the type of love poem that takes you once and dresses itself up again; this is take me home to your parents and make love to me from across the room over childhood pictures, this is set our past, our broken on fire and slow-dance upon the ashes, this is: if my heart’s more resistant than my core when it comes to letting you in, knock the door down, break the glass in—I dare you, make a mess of me.

"This is the Only Love Poem I Know" -valentina thompson (via theseoverusedwords)

Jul 28 11:48 with 561 notes
Words, English words, are full of echoes, of memories, of associations - naturally. They have been out and about, on people’s lips, in their houses, in the streets, in the fields for so many centuries. And that is one of the chief difficulties writing them today - that they are so stored with meaning, with memories, that they have contracted so many famous marriages… Our business is to see what we can do with the English language as it is. How we can combine the old words in new orders so that they can survive, so that they can create beauty, so that they tell the truth? That is the question.
― Virginia Woolf (via monosyllable)

Jul 28 9:36 with 6 notes
You think I’m not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you’ll burn.
― Margaret Atwood, from “Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing” (via mayahansens)

(Source: larmoyante)

Jul 28 4:48 with 4,980 notes

"You need to untangle the words that get tied around your lungs during rough times because if you don’t you’ll eventually choke on remorse"

I guess the point is this: that you make yourself out to be different in your head but rly, that’s what makes you the same as all of them
Jul 27 11:22

I would be a fly on the wall just to watch the both of u hehehe
Also- bug bites are tbh creeping the hell outta me LOL get off me now!!! *rage*

Jul 27 11:17
I am drawn to you for
the same reason insects
are drawn to burning light;
we are both compelled
to jump into beautiful
things, even if they have
the potential to set us
on fire.
we are blind as we approach our end, Emma Bleker (via vedere-paul)

Jul 26 4:48 with 6,914 notes
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