whatwordscant (12:45:19 AM): spaghetti? nah thats been overused.

we were never meant to carry such weight, fingers give way, eyes veil strain, lips part, a breath. a disbelief, maybe, but the hour is fleeting, crushed velvet a curtain's draw. never we seem to have control, but i say, the pace is not ours to keep, but to follow; leave the stones to turn, as we turn ourselves. we will carry what we will, carry ( Read more... )

when she comes to mind flutter promises, like fingers unfurled, slim, resting on glass, cautious. can you see the bottom? we've hidden in the grey-casts, hidden from everything, but certainty. so, she has thought of me, in the same meek-fashion we impart each other, our silent trademarks facing silent returns, just the loud, empty sounds of fingers ( Read more... )

you know
it's a pleasure to be here
come back
we can breathe here

now that you've found it
it's gone
now that you feel it
you don't

the secret is out, whispered in cold breath, regret. the fact is, you only care about yourself, as you should. you survive on daily self-administered pats on the back, but you never ask yourself, can people be the same? well, from my view up here, they are; like glass-eyed leeches, easily attached, accidents waiting to happen. that's my problem. ( Read more... )

utter torment. with every cracked smile of her's, a crack in my heart. one day i'll stop being so poetic, romantic, and optimistic all the time and this kind of entry would just read: fuck.

xIxAMxTHExEMOx (2:39:47 AM): just sleep on the couch ( Read more... )

and when she stood on top of the crate, and her voice beckoned the still air, when you felt something in you but couldn't name it, or perhaps, for the better, did not want to. i was tired, i am tired, of cataloguing my experiences, hoping, wishing, they achieve a timelessness through precise archive. because when she stood on top of the crate and ( Read more... )

maybe it's come so far that you're just attracted to being attracted to me, and maybe i have no factor at all in the equation. maybe i fit this mold so well of what you want. but i don't want to be a mold. i'm not a mold. i'm real, i'm not something you force your thoughts onto, and they bounce effortlessly back, just the way you want them, just ( Read more... )