have a funny habit of making you feel
like you’re either on top of the world,
or under it."
— Beau Taplin || the hours between.
Coma Cinema - Lindsey
lover now torn apart on weekends you spend
in your bed alone
oh my god misery is tangible
it makes your hunger new
sing your simple shyness pretty heart
— David Wojnarowicz
Summoning Ritual by Heroin party
here in the dark i am strong
i beat my fists against your chest
and reshape your bones to fit my needs
and i’m not going to eat again
because food only brings me pain
i’m going to be beautiful
my body will float above my bed
held there with rope and like
some summoning ritual from your
you’ll trace your fingers around
each of my ribs
and you won’t be able to look me in the eye
— Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You.
Tell me where to find you. Over the phone, your voice ground into sand. In your dream last night a white haired man begged you for water. You woke with someone else’s teeth in your mouth. In November you read Dante, said: hell sounds a lot like Oklawaha. Someone without a body can still ruin your life. You know a girl whose father killed her mother with the claw end of a hammer. Daddy painted her red. Everything glittered when she screamed. Somewhere an angel is having second thoughts. Somewhere the sky is going soft. No one is going to break your heart.