Naturally & Artificially flavored

 

it was like…. every time I coughed
he was escaping me somehow.
Every time I opened a door,

every time I brushed my hair

every time I exhaled…
he was leaving all over again.
I would find myself crying at the end of the night when I knew I had forgotten how he smelled or the way he said hello when he was tired or sad or angry or exuberant.
i was losing parts of him, slowly
and quickly,
always at the same time.

I remember that his birthday is in December
and the first thing he ever painted was a flower
for his mom on mother’s day.
I could probably tell you his favorite foods
and the first thought he has every morning,
but soon I will no longer remember.
Soon

even that will be gone.

isas-bell:

You are like a drunk morning nebulous as fog inching out my ribs.

isas-bell:

You are like a drunk
morning nebulous as fog
inching out my ribs.

Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto.

By Joshua Espinoza (via doubtsbestally)

We argue like acid rain. In our darkest moments we are bitter and hungry and furious. When I am cruel, I leave with no warning and do not come back for days. When you are cruel, you drink and smoke 20 a day. You threaten to fuck my friends. We fall in and out of love with each other like the tides at midnight. I want to say ‘here is the door, here is my kiss, pick one.’ I want to say that I love you but I cannot keep breaking my spine for you. Instead, I tell you that I am leaving and you tell me that you love me and we fill and empty each other again.

Azra. T “praying foxes”  (via 5000letters)

(Source: arizeegrosky)

I remember wishing I could be boiled like water
and made pure again.

Jeffrey McDaniel (via torturegardens)

(Source: rarararambles)

I just laid in her bed
and listened to her tinkling
through the wall
and thought about running away
with her
to another planet.
A planet
that would let me kiss
the sound
of innate sadness
right outta her light, naked
footsteps.
A planet
that would let me
love her
in all the unnatural
and inhuman ways
she deserved
to be loved in.

Then I heard
the toilet flush.

She came back to bed,
laid down beside me
and we both fell asleep
on the same stupid planet
we had both been struggling
to learn how to love on
since the day
we were born.

I hate me
for accepting
the physical boundaries
of this world
and for trying to fit
our unusual love
inside of it.

If you asked me now who I am, the only answer I could give with any certainty would be my name. For the rest: my loves, my hates, down even to my deepest desires, I can no longer say whether these emotions are my own, or stolen from those I once so desperately wished to be.