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ne me quitte pas

you appeared like a body bag
fulla hymnal books
unzipped in half I

never saw so many door jams fall
outta anyone’s mouth
into math like that when

Tennessee put its crooked smile
on a wadded up map
and sent you packin’

west

good

gospel gospel got god
stuck to the rock he made and
and he mighta made it larger than us
or it mighta served to save this place
sure I coulda swore I heard you calling
for a shot at a grip on vice
doesn’t mean your mouth was moving
doesn’t mean I even heard you right

all I know is that your skin keeps calling
and I don’t care if it’s a busted flint
‘cause every time you pull your thumb down on it
I get [up up] back up to my feet

again

all of them

move move
like an offering plate
on’m one by one
it’s a penchant for a savior
a tendency to over – run
whatever shook do not get shook up

whatever’s lost you don’t get lost
even if they say you must give more than
everything you ever offered up

I know a voice does not come easy
I know the words fell out in bites
I know the moment when the
abandonment looked a lot like flight
you pulled whatever got left

inside

out right.

— "a hole in god" - buddy wakefield

i love buddy wakefield so much he’s the most raw people i’ve ever spent time with it’s like his humanity has rubbed through his skin til it’s all nerve

“I’ve been lonely for a long time now, hoping anyone who I perceive as better than me will scoop me up on a night kite rescue mission and love me so hard that I can finally forget about this feeling left over from all the years my blood was boiling. Dear Gravel, it doesn’t work like that. If anyone ever loves you that hard, hard as you’ve been dreaming, chances are you will not believe them
until you accept yourself.”

— Buddy Wakefield, Start 

(Source: andreagoldston)

to the guy at the music jam sesh today that looks like james franco and sings like I imagine adonis would: u can PLS holler at me (but softly)

foxmouth:

Portraits, 2014 | by Brian Oldham

wolverxne:

Vernal Falls - Yosemite National Park | by: { delacruzjane }

(Source: WOLVERXNE, via lastargumentofkings)

systematic, if anything at all.

deeplystained:

— inflamation. fractured sternum, stretch marks on my chest where my heart swelled ten times its size trying to become the love it felt, and so suddenly lost.

— temporary blindness, burned-out irises: an image of touch, blazing hot like sunlight flooding my pupils, searing into memory what these eyes have seen and been unable to forget.

— a fragile skeleton. in some places, my bones soft like wax, and in others brittle, decalcified. my bones melting or crumbling to dust, unable to bear the weight of this body. this body, carved from stone and cement, this body too heavy, this body too hollow to be so goddamn heavy. my spine uncurling, losing shape, bending towards warmth instinctively, much in the way babies and flowers are drawn to light.

— loss of coordination. my hands twitching, trying to recall muscle memory. body at war with mind, desperate to remember, neurons misfiring. strange sensations of tenderness and pressure. distant pangs of loneliness. a gnawing in the cellar of my throat. foaming at the mouth and my jaws snapping.

—  hunger. an ache that refuses to be numbed or medicated. my tongue a bed of needles, my hips unwelcoming, my hips a bouquet of knives — self-defense, i think. i am ugly. i am unloved and unlovable. only this, unable to be anything else after you have lived and died in this flesh.

— my body: a coffin where i have foolishly buried you.

(via backshelfpoet)

heatoise:

*sees a dog*

me: holy shit

(via alone-)

“we know too well these capricious seas, upset from hand
to hand, shifted from palm to palm in the hollows of the heart.
a tip of the medicine hat and a smile like a funeral –
I’ve been dancing with ghosts since we last met,
growing intimate with the language of leaving
etched into the notches of your spine, you sing it blindly
as you wander into the unyielding night and the notes crumble
into dust between your vocal chords.
the language of frank unassuming pauses
donning costumes in the form of embrace,
haunting the space between two spectral bodies
turned ghost in the wake of leaving –
when did we first learn to fear silence?
walking on eggshells that resemble our hearts too closely,
never falling, always shattering,
only falling-asleep at the wheel, driving into mirrors until
the edges match up with the jagged lines of nervous smiles -
laughter like a car crash, chests lined with spiderwebs,
pining for a matching puzzle piece to see the bigger picture,
to finally get what the hell it is that we’re doing here
excavating the sites of old wounds, studying the archaeology
of hungry bones, reading ourselves back in reflections,
open-ended backwards perceptions, never fleshed out -
yearning for skin we can fit without having to hang our head,
not home to violent hearts that only know how to love with teeth,
carnivorous mouths that only recognize love when it bleeds.”

"the language of loss" 

(Source: falcade)

one of the Couchsurfing hosts I stayed with in Winnipeg called her mother, in her late eighties, for us to stay with before we passed through Edmonton and this woman checks up on me like a grandmother would it’s absolutely astounding  

“I like to be seduced. I like intense dialectics of pursuit and evasion, aggression and coyness. I like boldness. I like intellectual and emotional engagement. I need to feel safe, I need your honesty and respect, and I won’t tolerate being manipulated or mindfucked outside of negotiated boundaries, but within those boundaries, well, strap me onto the rollercoaster and let’s take a ride! Flirt with my expectations. I like the precision mindfuck, the strategic feint. Look into my eyes and make silent, terrible promises. Take the tension up a notch or two or ten with a smoldering, fuck-me stare as we talk about the weather; send the needle on my pressure gauge into the red zone.”

concu-binary 

(via caelums)