film class ramblingyour name on my fingers, pressed up against a page:film class rambling
in a dream
i thought he was you at first,
but less fragile,
more grounded on top of me stealing
suffocating soft hips and i think i could have cried
am i stupid am i here in bed buried beneath my own body, heavy, gratefully nude, salty-eyed solace harvested from horoscopes.
i can't pay attention anymore can't leave my head because you're there, laughing and staring at me, i like you wide eyed, like an illustration.
he
herehere, where the meadows fall apart the staccato, stick-branches thrash upward from the half-dead ground. a wind tangles and twists me around its finger, turns away fro its wintry home to excavate and explore, but finds nothing.here
here, where the cream, crusted flowers dangle ashamed in the still, the blackbirds cannot sing for they cannot remember the words. a man sits and stares upon a bench in the city. i listen for an echo of his life story, retold in a homeless breeze, but hear nothing.
&nbs
surrenderingdear brother, i watched you settle in Mom's car in the heart of the desolate night. you huffed out prayers, clasped rubbery, wet hands, for absolution through a shaken faith. i tip-toed to the window sill slicing the space with steady movements mouthing the words with yousurrendering
if your prayers could reach your god, they would sink to the bottom of a grave.
dear mother, six weeks since he left you. i found you rather distant, rather untouchable almost a stranger ignoring the places he used to be. the coffee rings on the table from his carelessness
011.a flash of pink, a blurred, salt-watered absence of: “oh, you’re the most beautiful thing, the most beautiful thing,” whilst strumming fingers against your lips, tapping in morse code: hush, hush! (words are not) words are not what this moment was born for; cultivated from our greatest fears and the embarrassment of spilling a coarse smirk onto each other’s laps, and the playful songs, bouncing and resonating from our curled tongues to our fragile ears. grown from the fibers of his grandpa’s itchy blankets, covering bare, cold knees and hiding our teenage heart conditions. fertilized011.
i'm back
[link]
--
i am shining smiles and flowery glows.
--
Fuck me harder. No harder. Make me cry.
--
Veni, Vini, Vici
--
godisnowhere
godisnowhere
. . . i t ' s t h e w a y y o u l o o k a t t h i n g s .
i♥this
~ † ~
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