Spilled And Inked

For those with more words than paper.
leaveyouapen:

#324
I tried looking for the extraordinary,
the uncanny,
the rare.But my companions were the sun,
the moon,
the stars. So what if I found the ancient ruins?
the long lost treasure?
the fountain of youth?What would I do without the mundane?
the cliché?
the heroes and villains and winners and underdogs that continue to touch our hearts century after century after century?

leaveyouapen:

#324

I tried looking for the extraordinary,

the uncanny,

the rare.

But my companions were the sun,

the moon,

the stars. 

So what if I found the ancient ruins?

the long lost treasure?

the fountain of youth?

What would I do without the mundane?

the cliché?


the heroes and villains and winners and underdogs that continue to touch our hearts century after century after century?

forgive the boy with the ripped jeans and bruised knuckles, his heart is heavy, his ribcage is a song he doesn’t remember the words to. forgive him and his curses. he’s still trying to perch love on the tips of his tastebuds, no one taught him how to swirl it around his tongue and breathe it into someone else. he doesn’t know it’ll come back to him so he’s holding on to the shred he has left. forgive him. hard. like you mean it. like he’s worthy. like it’s the only thing that can save him because in many ways, it is.

(via inkpenstains-deactivated2013110)

Croatoan: Veiled in Lightlace

travestyintechnicolour:

Years ago, I wondered worriedly how I was ever to live on my own. I knew that the pulsing, coloured, light-born blotches I tried to nail down with my eyes like chasing an itch a layer too deep on your palm would mutate clumsily and look like madmen with stalactite teeth, the empty room…

Last night, I dreamt a gypsy held a razorblade between her right thumb and index finger, drew one more thin line across my wrist and taught me how to turn my scars into treasure maps. I hid blood red pieces of myself in her crabapple hands, sugarcoated my tongue with excuses until she said to me “your veins can only bleed so much warmth before you turn cold entirely”. This morning I tightened the screws on all six of my sharpeners, threw out every jagged glass bottle edge stained rusty with blood and dead skin cells. This morning, you smoked one last cigarette and stapled a nicorette patch to your bicep. This morning, we both chose to live.

(via inkpenstains-deactivated2013110)

leaveyouapen:

#313
poetry is the barely touching fingers separated by a universe
the distant longing always felt
the casual uncertainty of peace
the breathing death in suffocating life
contradictions unfolded
into
perfectly useless sense
the why that is the answer 
to the mystery 
that is truth
‘what is poetry,’ you ask
‘it is you and it is yours,’ i say 
and smile

leaveyouapen:

#313

poetry is the barely touching fingers separated by a universe

the distant longing always felt

the casual uncertainty of peace

the breathing death in suffocating life

contradictions unfolded

into

perfectly useless sense

the why that is the answer 

to the mystery 

that is truth

‘what is poetry,’ you ask

‘it is you and it is yours,’ i say 

and smile

Defenestrations: A Birthday Sonnet

secretedsins:

One single day from each and ev’ry year
Is set aside to celebrate your birth
And reap well-wishes from your flock of friends.
Please count this as my wish, for what it’s worth.
I wish you blissful sleep (sometime tonight)
Awash with dreams that might curl others’ toes
That…

July 23

inkpenstains:

that night the wind howled so hard my bones

ached as the neighbours dog barked into it’s whistles

and i imagined you’d stood outside your little beach house,

halfway across the globe, arms akimbo, smiling like

you’d conquered something. and in that moment you had;

me.

(via inkpenstains-deactivated2013110)