Reading List For My Travels Through Italy: - War Of The Foxes By Richard Siken - Life On Mars By Tracy

my kink is when people actually stay

anthem - leonard cohen

I washed my broken heart with beach waves and sunsets. I stitched my battle scars with threads of leftover love. I stood in a sea of strangers, without hangover, whatsoever. I am every invisible painting on your skin. You wish they were from my lips and my fingertips. I am the silence in your living room You wish we could dance together on thirty-second floor without music on. I am those deep conversations you wish you could have from a stormy evening until sunny morning. But you didn’t get it, did you? Women like me don’t take weak men Men who couldn’t handle their chaos wouldn’t be able to handle ours. Men who come back would always be unwelcome. I was the decision you didn’t make. I was the war you didn’t fight for. I am a place you can’t come home to. There’s no point crawling back to me. I’m over you.

Shaine Salcedo, The City Doesn’t Hum Your Name Anymore (via wnq-writers)

Do you ever realize how badly you’re going to miss a moment while you’re living it? Like wow, these are the good days. I am here and I am happy and I feel alive.

Unknown (via sunsetquotes)

Her fingers moving fast & brutal as if mapping blue edges of the unseen sky.

This is what it means to really want something. Her open mouth an iris ringed

with desperation deeper than shame. You’ll forsake everything if only to be real—

— Natalie Wee, from “Mirror,” Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines

the things we learn on our mothers’ laps

see that lady standing there between the window & the fire extinguisher? she’s just lost her father & i think her boyfriend just left her.

why the fuck would you say that?

i’m telling you, i’ve got this superpower. i just know.

how’s that? a superpower?

not a marvel studios superpower, u silly. more like this supreme capacity. i’ve always had it.

when my dad abandoned my mom, she lost herself in the world’s most dangerous drug: poetry.

she used to hold me on her lap while reciting emily brunte & sylvia plath.

i think that’s why i can read into people’s sadness.

when i come across sadness on the street, authentic sadness, the blues crawl out their host & come talk to me. i’m thinking of starting a mémoire or a blog on it. like that humans of new york, u know?

talk about those things we learn on our mothers’ laps…

i reckon everyone who’s lucky enough to have a mum will undoubtedly learn something whilst resting on her lap. my mom used to sit me on her lap while she revised old latin scriptures & tried herself at egyptian hieroglyphics.

that’s why sometimes tombs & churches murmur their secrets to me. they tell me stories about the afterlife & how, if demanded gently, fire can caress the soul the way water strokes the curves of an overflowing vase.

they find it hilarious that we make a big deal out of our own end.

when all there really is, is an everlasting void.

- @skinthepoet

brain rain by .simstorm Via Flickr

Which would you choose? Olympic National Park, Washington