The Ramblings of the Half-Blind Heart

walterblakeknoblock:

Our relationship was tragic and based on fear. I was scared she didn’t love me and she was scared I’d leave. We were like ropes on the dock, frayed and tangled, sure that we were bound together, but unaware of how or why.

(via freefallinletters)

cairovercoat:

have you ever been reading a book and then it PUNCHES YOU VIOLENTLY IN THE GUT

(via onewomandisneyland)

Fingers Never Fing

dr-gibberyshrooms-md:

under my fingernails,
specks of truth,
reflect lights hood winked spectacle,
as though my hands,
are more than flesh,
are more than muscle,
are more than bones,
creations created to create,
finding solace in simplest movements,
like the arch of your spine.

(via freefallinletters)

get-a-roof:

That awkward moment when a sentence doesn’t end the way you think it cranberries.

(via consultingmoosecaptain)

In The Garden of Eden

eating-poetry:

No one tells much about it,
but there were vultures in the Garden of Eden,
Turkey vultures, to be exact.
Dark eagles, they would soar like gods
voiceless, their wings held out in blessing,
their unfeathered heads the red jewels
of the sky of the garden.

They were vegetarian then.
There were no roadside kills,
no bones to pick, no dead flesh to bloom, ripen.

And they were happy.
They could not imagine
what they would become.

By Sheryl St. Germain

(via thegentlehoneybee)

truthlackslyricism:

do you ever wonder if maybe
the rain is trying to talk to us
but it hasn’t learned our language yet?
maybe the trees are swaying to the music
we make when we cease to be afraid
of living.
maybe it’s trying to dance with us.
maybe the stars are trying to say something
but we just haven’t learned the words
they’re using.
and maybe the moon
hangs from the sky
on a noose
to keep us from feeling lonely.

(Source: buttholepoetry, via englishmajormade)

onlyeverything-below:

god shoots heroin and
every time he pushes down on the syringe,
the sky lights
up.
it is just a shame i can’t feel the same euphoria.
i can only feel the rainclouds spilling their cold
guts.
i am writing songs about the rain like children so often do
but nobody will write songs about me.
aren’t i just as cold?
aren’t i just as desperate?

(Source: goldinyourveins)

Day 327

straylovers:

if
you
have

a hole in your heart
let me fill it with light

the
kind
the
stars
die
for

and one word at a time,
let me fill it with poetry

because it is the strength
found in bone marrow

if you don’t believe me
the anthropologies are proof

of
how
verses
bleed
out
of
broken
jaws

but a piece-wise empty heart
would be a terrible sadness. 

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