How Can You Call Him A Monster When He Has My Heart Gently Cradled Between His Cupped Palms? So Much

and when the writer types out the final full stop, we stop too. for you and I, were only a 'we' within these numbered pages bound by a frail paperclip. what we search for is eternal, and the writer tried, tried so hard but I guess we weren't just meant the be, the fates cut our string, the paperclip was bound to break.

exam season again y'all

I don't annotate much in books, and yet if it was him? I'd underline every letter. the margins would be complete with my handwriting (I hope). I'd highlight all of him, every single page.

hold on babes, lemme just put on my rose-tinted glasses to excuse all that you do or say

How pitiful it must be to be god don’t you think? A ray of sunshine or a dirtied tile of hope? What is more utterly dehumanizing than being kept alive through desires? Doesn’t that make god a woman? Your lovely creatures, whom you created to love, when in reality they are but your hopes, not you theirs, what else will keep you immortal? No, I believe you were human once, and I believe immortality is the greatest curse, because this is what you end up as. A concept that cannot touch, an entity that cannot feel, the saint who cannot learn, a barren figment of what it is to be without curiosity. Wouldn’t you like to be free from it? But then again, if you’re cursed with knowing what is left for us after death, what is left for you?

math exam was so good it made me think, don't get men get maths fr

Was icarus's fall so terrible after all? He would've died with a smile on his face, the sun all beautiful on him, setting him ablaze. Golden boy alight in his fall, golden are our kisses which set me ablaze and my wings burn in all their glory as you sweep my ashes 'neath the rug. The wax stuck to my lashes doesn't seem to scald your skin as much as I'd hoped and it seems fair to give it all up, for just a fleeting moment of your rays spreading across my skin, painting my lips, as if all the gold would hide the red underneath. Icarus must've surely died with a smile on his face, for I know I did in your smoldering embrace.

You can't drag me away from cities, no matter the serenity of small towns and farmhouses. Something unspoken about it always attracts me, so many lives, bursting with energy, each fast and bright in its own galaxy, none too similar to the other or to mine, and I, a lone observer, will never get enough of that feeling.

Yes, your heart stopped at 5:05 am. You still have so much time left across the world. Frida kahlo painted flowers so that they would not die, my darling muse, how can I ever accept that you're gone?

we are but a gentle sin, while you hold the gun against my mouth, while we play dolls in our sandhouse, does the burn remind you of me? sickly red hazes overcoming your greatest tragedies, I'd let you blow my brains out, but I'd also burn your skin right off yes we talk till dawn cracks over the kitchen counter, but it would remind you of a puppeteer and me of skinner's theories.