I am so tired and you know what they say

About golden things and dawn and day

Ocean/Lover →

athousandbeatinghearts:

Dear shoreline, I am ocean

I am waves and endless motion

And I want you, how I want you

Feel my water fingers reaching.

But you always push away

I pull back to my depths, into the bay

And for a moment stay-

Before I stretch to you again.

Taste my salty tears

I know you know I’m here

I’m…

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But all I know is winter.

(Source: winter-lover)

There will come a time

when you will know

it’s best to cut your losses

and sleep.

And you will either go

and dream,

or stay awake

and shake with the tumbling in

of every memory

that grits to dust your teeth

and scrapes away your peace.

Because I was less than magnificent.

A hazardry of hope

Indefinitely frozen in the hold-your-breath feeling of being on the brink of receiving what you crave.

An endless winter snowing on the cold-sharp knowing that you won’t give up hope but that spring will never come.

L’appel du Vide →

hijackingolivia:

L’appel du Vide is the corner of ourselves that we avoid. It is spider webbed in darkness and blows a chilling drought through our thoughts. At times it dims the light in our minds and seizes us with eerie curiosity. It is the not turning away from the grotesque; it is the fascination with…

So far, so good far.

I will give you all the space you need

But please

Let me know when it’s okay

That I come back

And color it in.

But the wind loves you

I know this by the way it curls its fingers around your hair,

Like I did.

The way it strokes the hollows of your face

The way it whispers in your ear, a language you haven’t yet learned.

I know the way the wind is sorry

For being cold.

I know.

(Source: hijackingolivia)

Apology

Even for every heavy night awake

I think I won’t find words enough,

And I cannot make this right

When everything has left.

Today while walking north, I found seven silver nuts, just scattered on the ground, casting their helpless shadows in the grey four o’clock light. Seven shiny nuts within two hundred yards, no one else thought to see to look at them. But I did. And I picked them up, one by one, their tiny masses in my hand, and slipped them into my pocket. I stopped to bend to take them from ground, heedless of the passers-by (what do they know about these precious pieces). Because that’s what you do when you hurt and when the sky is streaking across the clouds and when you’re breathing cold and shallow. And you wonder what was here before you, what left these bloody footprints.

Something is falling apart. Something needs these threaded rings to be whole.

I told you things would disconnect, I told you. But I remember I forgot to say it’d be my fault. I forgot to remember to tell you how afraid I was and am and how I didn’t want to have to be splinted together if we part. But then I forgot to forget about holding your hand; and now I forget how I forgot how much it mattered.

I kept the nuts, they’re huddled together in my pocket, homeless. But still threaded with their spiral micro-staircases that might lead to something better..

Maybe one day, some day I’ll put something back together.

"I can stand on my head in a bucket of shit for a finite period of time."

wisdom from my father

Second Law of Thermodynamics

The wind flies and tumbles before her

Afraid that she will breathe it in

And the rain doesn’t dare to touch her

Afraid to turn to ice on her skin.

She walks in cold and shadow

Because the warmth and light has fled

She who once gathered them in,

Now causes them to turn away in dread.

I write, therefore I am anesthetized.