ππππ π’πππ πππππ ππ
21 posts
my hunger ran deep one day. it twisted and turned my insides. attempted to claw itβs way out of my stomach as i inched closer to my prey.
my lover,
i just wanted to kiss you, i didnβt mean to consume all of your flesh and bones but i couldnβt help myself.
like i said, it ran deep and now we are one.
i look at her and to put it simply, i see my muse for the first time looking right back at me.
When you cycled by, Here began all my dreams
The saddest thing I've ever seen
And you never knew, How much I really liked you
Because I never even told you, Oh, and I meant to
Are you still there or have you moved away?
Or have you moved away?
back to the old house - the smiths
βTell me again how Rome burned, how our bodies became the sun - in those moments, with our legs tangled in bedsheets, my fingertips catching rays of light from your skin - Tell me again how our ashes were too holy for this universe to taste.β
β An empire, fallen | p.d (via p.d vulpe)
βYou sleep coiled; tightly wound. Hands are fists beneath pillows, clenched above cotton sheets. You are at war, even in your dreams.β
β Rest Achilles, the world will wait | p.d (via p.d vulpe)
βWhen I was five, I burned my hand on the stove my mother never warned me not to touch. Wrapping my hand in bandages, she told me βYouβre a leo, your soul seeks the warmth.β All I understand then, was pain. My mother was born in the late fifties, an immigrant to this country, and she believed in the power of the stars alignment. It wasnβt the first time, nor would be the last my zodiac became the cause and not the effect of her neglect. I broke my ankle, when I was seven, jumping from my dresser. Convinced with my sheets wrapped around my neck, that I could fly. My mother whispered into my hair as I cried, βYou forgot the feathers, child.β With a cast on my leg, and a faded scar upon my palm, I listened to her soft voice, with the accent she tried so desperately to hide, tell my favorite story. Of a boy ruled by the sun, burned by the things he could never touch. Icarus must have been born a leo, too.β
β and his mother, the sun | p.d (via p.d vulpe)
she is the spit i cannot swallow the air i cannot breathe her touch so far from me leaving me violent for a rage i couldnβt possibly yet know eternity is not enough for desire