pitter patters of blood dripping aside the gutter, mocking it for trying to organize the mess. i had tiptoed trying to sneak past broken glass but the goosebumps in my skin greeted the sharpness with such poise. i did not even feel a pinch, and the fear of numbness left me laying on the shingled roof like a plastic bag caught on a flagpole. the sky gazed down at me; so concerned. a mother holding a premature baby. the purple in it’s face shining like the sun, about to burst from being so close to death. some sort of morbid miracle kissing my cheek. the light shone a bright white and i screamed and cursed. “have mercy on my soul.” my shirt had me hung at the end of the roof. dangling like those diamond earrings my friend’s mother wore long ago. the savior was off cradling other unable bodies while i begged and pleaded to be put back in my place. only the wind responded; swaying me back and fourth. my arms buckled at the prison below, the soft green earth planted with knives, screaming children, and marriages ending in divorce, we are in a divide.

she constantly feared the transparent; the see-through curtains that hung around every window in this old vacant house. she had felt the stares of the benevolent but interpreted their curiousity as invasive and deviant. She hid under coffee stained table cloths in the kitchen; naked and shivering as bare flesh greeted the brisk tile floor. the constant paranoia that housed itself inside of her cells began to overtake her very being. the wind fought with the doors of the home and she saw them creep open in defeat. her eyelashes were weighed down with dust and her wrists were rusted from all of the years of abuse and weathering she endured. the walls begged to be covered with paintings; to be shielded from the decay it witnessed her become. the rugs would curl up, fearing the same fate of being walked upon and dirtied. the sink had a drip that resembled the woman’s sobbing demeanor, an empathetic rhythm to the short breaths she whimpered in her depressive state. the cupboard shook furiously in witness to her loneliness as the cups chattered inside of it like her teeth from the lack of insulation. out the window roared a cold cold February reigning its terror upon the foundation. 

"this house is not a home" she said.

i’ve been dug up at the scene of the crime and my lifeless body has been framed up on your vacant bedroom wall. reminisce on the way i used to bend and twist, so limber and at your will. such an innocent love we shared, like swingsets swaying in the cool september wind so many suns ago. the bolts that held it together were rusted and brittle, and day by day i watched as the weather wore it away. i felt a sense of harmony with it, a relation my soul wish it didn’t share. i witnessed a vacant sunflower in a field full of weeds. it was so tall it hunched over, in sort of a lonely defeated way. society insists on uniqueness emphatically, yet when one does they are that sunflower in the field. they are subjected, alone, and scared. it’s hard to be a flower in an environment full of weeds. i wish a stranger would pick them out of my life. i just want to see greenery, to feel alive and breathe the oxygen i once felt enter my lungs. i watched as you rotted like expensive florist arrangements. faster than i’d ever liked. a hollowness entered the room and wrapped its thin weary arms around us. our throats bled as we sat at the sink choked in its hold. i felt myself sink into the floor, a victim of a nonexistent force that engulfed my soul. you got out alive, such brave bones that caved in ever so slightly. you ran for your life, as the soil eventually wrapped a dirt blanket over my unconvinced eyes. the realization coursed through my veins as i stopped hearing your staccatto breathing, fumbling through a set of keys to get out the door. 

i’ll just have to wait until my roots grow. 

there’s a light that flickers in the hallway and leaves a haunting shadow that comes and goes down the sides of my hips and keeps me warm better than your cold soul ever could have, such a bitter mindset and lack of admiration for another soul; shut me out, i feel the spindle squeak as you slam the car door. all i see in you are shaking legs and eager lonely eyes. a night will do you in and you’ll be off onto the next town to forget it all. the lights will blind you, will keep you dismal. is the thought of sentiment a night slouched over the balcony after a bottle of evan williams? just some familiar kind of failure for you to remember and assume with, pointing a barrel of a gun at your innocent victims. you like to watch them squirm, to dwindle until you see the hope sucked right out of them. the shadows are my friends, i will always lurk but will never invade the light or make you try to see it until you open your eyes and it blinds you. you’re afraid to adjust, afraid of ledges you might fall off of. i’m just perpetually hanging of them, with some fucked up thought that maybe you’ll be at the bottom expecting me all along.

garfield had a miscarriage on my head.

garfield had a miscarriage on my head.

the sink has a drip to it that no wrench can fix. the unfinished walls stare back at you like the girl waiting on the subway bench. no association, just useless curiousity. who are you i wonder, what makes your mind tick. somersaults on the sidewalk. a long walk back home. dinner table distractions - your mother picking at her plate wishing for something more. is life a constant obstacle as i see it now or do we just slowly decay and grow bored of essentially everything? drugs get boring, the end of the bottle is just another thing to throw away. midnight bowling only strikes for so many moons until the stars invade and we’re off to something new. nothing is constant, persistence is an excuse to be noticed. we have insatiable minds, disinterested souls, and desolate hearts. No one asks questions but everyone seeks answers. explained only in mathematics, science, and physics. nothing makes sense anymore. 

the clouds they scream in jealousy

the ground oh how it longs for me

for the roots to grasp my ankles

and pull me back down to reality

I’m in a dizzy wonderland

Distracted and dazed

yet ever so complacent 

satisfactory mindset

void of concentration

only motivation 

shaking begging pleading

write me off once more

tie my arm to a hot air balloon

send me up

feel the warmth

kiss the sun the moon the stars

feel the air flow through my hair

the follicles beg for a breeze

waiting for the fix the doctor can spare

when I come down gravity pulls me

it makes me nauseous 

it makes me crave for it

it makes me howl at the moon crazy

in and out of consciousness

my eyes they become so hazy

grinding my teeth, itching my skin

i need the sunshine in my veins

the warmth and comfort

of a hearth in milligrams

Anonymous asked: Whenever you feel lonely, sad or in need of love, please know that there is somebody out there who thinks that you are wildly beautiful, and is praying for your happiness.

I think i want to know you.

renee-arenburg:

got some pretty flowers for a pretty lady~

Baby ily

renee-arenburg:

got some pretty flowers for a pretty lady~

Baby ily

i am so horny WHAT IS AIR HENRY CAVILL WHAT THE FUCK IS AIR OK

(Source: hellotailor)