As a beautiful girl, here's what you need to know..
Don't you ever let anyone reach out to your body before touching your mind.
Real lovers always want to see how does your mind look like when it's naked before seeing your body
you'll not get it now. But, soon you'll get it and you'll know why and trust me, you'll remember this.
Don't you ever let anyone reach out to your body before touching your mind.
Real lovers always want to see how does your mind look like when it's naked before seeing your body
you'll not get it now. But, soon you'll get it and you'll know why and trust me, you'll remember this.
What kind of writer am I to you? With all this love and no right words for it?
Maybe the wounds aren't made for nothing...
It was caused to mark— to be remembered, and maybe as I keep thinking of the days I lost you, I will still reach for the loose string left unattached. There will still be a hungry lion inside me that only you can tame. Perhaps, I am always the one waiting as your memories keep lurking in the space I vacated for you.
It was caused to mark— to be remembered, and maybe as I keep thinking of the days I lost you, I will still reach for the loose string left unattached. There will still be a hungry lion inside me that only you can tame. Perhaps, I am always the one waiting as your memories keep lurking in the space I vacated for you.
Forwarded from Effortless (Bluu)
Body Count
Three bodies, one soul,
The ghost that haunts me,
A presence irresistibly evil,
His hold over my subconscious certain,
Three bodies, one soul,
I keep burning the bridges,
No, when I want yes,
Yes, when I need no,
It is a passion for insane,
Delusional accounts of intimacy,
Three bodies, one soul,
If we make sense it hurts,
If we hold hands, it burns,
Sets us on blinding flames,
If I see him, he moves on,
A step into his eternity,
An eternal party of souls with bodies expired too fast,
Proof, all the good ones, died young,
Three bodies, one soul,
A little girl dreaming of a love so wicked,
A poet with a kink for the pain and the drunken,
A poet with a kink for madness,
Now it hurts, I keep denouncing the sadness,
Naming the demons I'd like to keep,
Make a home for his shadowless self in my subconscious,
If I name him, he will stay,
Three bodies, one soul,
One dead, two to go,
A ghost, an architect and a philosopher,
To haunt me, to build me and to take me apart,
Three bodies, one soul,
Two dead, one to go,
I'm haunted, built up, waiting for the breakdown,
A ghost, a ghost and a philosopher,
Three bodies, one soul,
Two dead, one to go. Blu,
Three bodies, one soul,
The ghost that haunts me,
A presence irresistibly evil,
His hold over my subconscious certain,
Three bodies, one soul,
I keep burning the bridges,
No, when I want yes,
Yes, when I need no,
It is a passion for insane,
Delusional accounts of intimacy,
Three bodies, one soul,
If we make sense it hurts,
If we hold hands, it burns,
Sets us on blinding flames,
If I see him, he moves on,
A step into his eternity,
An eternal party of souls with bodies expired too fast,
Proof, all the good ones, died young,
Three bodies, one soul,
A little girl dreaming of a love so wicked,
A poet with a kink for the pain and the drunken,
A poet with a kink for madness,
Now it hurts, I keep denouncing the sadness,
Naming the demons I'd like to keep,
Make a home for his shadowless self in my subconscious,
If I name him, he will stay,
Three bodies, one soul,
One dead, two to go,
A ghost, an architect and a philosopher,
To haunt me, to build me and to take me apart,
Three bodies, one soul,
Two dead, one to go,
I'm haunted, built up, waiting for the breakdown,
A ghost, a ghost and a philosopher,
Three bodies, one soul,
Two dead, one to go. Blu,
Forwarded from 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡
You make me burn as red and as true
as your name on my lips is a flame.
as your name on my lips is a flame.
“But I couldn't remember. I was the disability girl, stones in my mouth,”
let me slip into
a life less messy
let me slip into
your sleeve,
if you're less messy
a life less messy
let me slip into
your sleeve,
if you're less messy
I wanted to write stories full of breezes, of filtered rays where dust motes danced. And then I loved the writers who made you look through every line, to gaze downward and feel the vertigo of the depths, the blackness of inferno.
But he knew me well—my tender heart, my habit of dissolving in tears and falling down on thresholds.
As time goes on, you'll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesn't, doesn't. Time solves most things. And what time can't solve, you have to solve yourself.
This is love, to sit with someone you've known forever in a place you've been meaning to go, and watching as their life happens to them until you stand up and it's time to go.
How can we miss someone knowing they are the worst thing happened to us?
How can we long for them knowing that they betrayed and left us for another soul?
How can we still see them as a good person even though they tried to kill us by breaking abandoning our hearts?
How?
How can we long for them knowing that they betrayed and left us for another soul?
How can we still see them as a good person even though they tried to kill us by breaking abandoning our hearts?
How?