And repeat after me with your heart: I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself. Arkem: My favourite part is that little laugh in the background. Me: Right? This song is weird and awesome and really spoken word poetry with a musical accompaniment. You should listen to it now.
(battle scars) so one day a boy will come along with lips that taste like gunpowder and he will make you feel like your body is a war zone, will kiss your neck and plant mines beneath your skin and set them off with long, trailing fingers – and sometimes you will feel like you […]
My Honest Poem I was born on July 22nd. I hear that makes me a Leo. I don’t really know what that means. Iʼm five foot six (and a half). I weigh 145 pounds. I donʼt know how to swim. And Iʼm a sucker for a girl with a nice smile and clean sneakers. Iʼm […]
My fire-eating career came to an end when I could no longer tell when to spit and when to swallow. Last night in Amsterdam, 1,000 tulips burned to death. I have an alibi. When I walked by your garden, your hand grenades were in bloom. You caught me playing loves me, loves me not, metal […]
So I’ve been going through my junk writing file. And partly because I wrote most of it while not fully conscious, and partly because I haven’t filed or tagged any of this stuff since some time in March, I’ve entirely forgotten writing most of what’s in there. Which is cool and weird and confusing. Cool […]
This song has an eerie kind of way of creeping into your head and getting stuck there on a loop. I don’t really know what most of it means but the chorus line of, You and me, we’re just fine is lovely even if it’s the only part your understand.
You are not a mere thief of my breaths – you trespass through doored veins, break and enter into latch-locked capillaries. You are armed and dangerous: I forget I have lungs at all. — Sincerely, Joanna
i tried to write about your eyes but i ran out of cliches i tried to say you plainly but there wasn’t enough truth whoever invented this language didn’t anticipate you — Joshua, blank slate