Horizon

It’s the twisted limp of your smile
that my breath trips over
when you turn your eyes away

A cliche tugging in the chestthe sweet sharp sting of your rejection,
a clouding over, your eyes once blue now grey
stare with a gaze that almost
stopped…
before slicing through
to seek out the next
opportunity
Paused only, if ever,
to lick with objectivity
the appraisal of flesh
that may provide relief for fucking
if only spontaneously and regrettably so
the superficial warmth of hot breath on shoulder
as careless as your wasted time

There is always something better,
just over the horizon
never realizing that it is only a direction not a destination
that the world is round
and you’ve forgotten now
if you’re running to
or from
your shadow

You seek refuge in the shade of ignorance
call it machismo, an extended adolescence
a constructed sanctuary from all you know
that you wish you didn’t
from all you’ve seen
that you wished you hadn’t

Drink it, fuck it, throw it all away
Whatever it takes to not feel what you have to
to not know the dirt you’re rooted in
to keep reaching for the distance
that is the emptiness between
what you are and what you
want

…over the horizon

I stand beside your telescopic sight
I barter for your attention
hungering for explanation for the exploration in
the garden of your neglected devotion
earned, but not chosen
shame lies with love lies with tragedy lies with innocence and sin
you feel it in your very bones
the seeds life has sewn, the experience you have grown
but your eyes seek only to appreciate elsewhere

The parts of me love the parts of you
that you wish you didn’t have-
too accurate a reflection? I wonder,
a mirror of things you refuse to believe…
I am here, but you’re far gone
hot breath on my shoulder
in the garden I grow colder
head in the sky, heart six feet under
you know not enough
to look at me

Willing Slaves

conorebbs:

Stars expired so you could live,
Cosmic wounds in grainy graves,
Boundless beauty clipped and claimed,
To serve the will of willing slaves.

5

Here I sit on my lover’s bed
a tossed up room that smells of late nights and sleeping in 
unwashed clothes and boy things
There’s a sword propped up in the corner 
a football helmet on the floor 
a girl’s tank top and tshirt amid the mess 
the pillow and sheets
crumpled and bleak 
Here i sit cross legged..

wondering what love is

2

thec00lniverse:

I can’t help
but wonder how 
many people have
looked at me
and said to
themselves: 

is that it?

11

Maybe the romance is dead
when you are absorbed in tumblr and your boyfriend all sleepy eyed wants to get in “oooonnn” so you keep tumbling and he starts making out with your feet and before you know it he’s awkwardly shuffling out the door
And you’re calling after him
“did you just?…”
From which he deflects with some awkward strangled humming down the hall and into the bathroom…

The romance may be dead, but sense of humor got shit kicks out of that!

Goooood morning Tumblr!

She loved a boy
who loved a boy
who loved a girl
that wasn’t her

obit:

i ask god not to touch her.
i say health be damned i’m going to hold in this smoke.
i cough, of course, failing.
she shows me pictures:
1. how do you spend an afternoon dancing to a song that isn’t heard?
2. how do you share your own nakedness?
3. what fills an empty alleyway and what forces us to…

56

obit:

Yes, everything is fine*

*Before you died you grew so thin that your bracelet slipped off your wrist. It loudly fell on the mall chocolatier’s floor and further drew the attentions of the customers who had already been paying too much attention. It’s like they were weighing you with a gaze. You…

32

mister-selfdestruct:

If you’re soft
I can be hard
if you’re the sweet
I’ll be the bitter
if you’re living
I’ll be your breathing
if you’re dying
I’ll rot beside you
if you’re beautiful
I’ll be ugly
and if you’re lonely
I’ll be alone.

26