"I’m so distant from people
these days that I don’t think
my tired heart is capable of
loving something other than
the burning sting of alcohol
anymore. Baby I know you
see stars in my eyes but trust
me I’m a black hole that’s
burning out faster than the
last summer days and when
the clock strikes midnight
I’m all messy thoughts and
crimson tear stains. You’d
better stay away from fire
when your skin is paper
thin and I’m up in flames.
Sometimes the most broken
people smile the brightest and
lips lined with desperation go
unnoticed like the midnight
rain. You say you’re in love
with damaged things but I
don’t think you know the pain."

m.l.b, don’t fall in love with damaged things (via traced-veins)


a haiku a day (293/365)
don’t get sick


don’t get sick,
there are good people out there,

that won’t mind when you call them

there are
people out there,

beautiful people
and they
used to smoke,
still do
strange nights,
tip a little too much sometimes,
they cry
things that happened
a while back
they have gardens,
or want them
in their


Let’s talk about how I wasn’t always the best man.
Let’s talk about my mistakes,
How I’ve shamed my own name
And yet still you decided to take me as I am.
(Thank you.)

But I want to be a better man.

I want my arms to become so strong that
When you are wrapped in them
You know that no harm will ever come to you.

And I want my shoulders to be concrete,
To be steel,
So that I can put Atlas to shame,
So I can put you on my back
Because you are my world and I don’t ever want to let you fall.

If only my heart could grow larger so I could love you right,
So I could pour every pint of blood into those chambers and say
“Darling, I bleed, this heart beats, for you.”

If only my hands could not be so calloused,
I could touch you as softly as you deserve.
You are built so fragilely; you are still so strong.
I want to be as strong as you are one day.

But I promise to be better than I was,
I promise.
And I promise to be better than I am,
I promise.


— "Greater Than Atlas" - Nishat Ahmed (via sickwithsyllables)

Van Gogh slices off his ear
to feel his body scream.
Your heart is always a missed beat
away from collapsing, from
giving up. How do I keep the words
capitalized but still whisper them
softly? How do I learn to fuck
but know when love is
being made?
The blinds are always closed.
I think that was you but
I can’t be sure. It was my hands
pulling on the string but your hands
leaving. Which one of us
is to blame for
Somewhere someone
is making to-do lists of things she has
already done. Check, check,
check, red pen bloody and new.
The dog doesn’t remember its owner
before the car hits it.
The artist calls her his muse
with his hands fingering lint in his pockets.
The artist forgets that the muse
has a heartbeat too."

Muse | Ramna Safeer (via inkywings)


Remember the nights we used to watch tv
but not quite
with your hands on my hips
and my lips on your neck?

Remember the nights we’d go out
and you’d squeeze my hand tight
and I’d do it right back,
telling eachother “I love you”
without speaking a single word?

Remember when we’d spend the night together
and say every hour
“this is it, really,
we need to sleep”
but my god we never did?

Remember when we watched out best friends
fall out of love
and we promised
that would never be us?

Remember when we ourselves
were in love?
My god
I remember
I remember
I remember it so clearly
and my darling, can we please
just fall in love again?


10/21/14 (cp)


I love absolutely everything about Maira Kalman's My Favorite Things.

All the things I did wrong:

I: I relied on someone for my happiness.

II: I love people more than I love myself.

III: I never asked for help.

IV: I asked for help.

V: I opened up.

VI: I had hope.


— All the things I did wrong by (KJ)


by Miles Hyman