vivre merveilleusement*

Status: the end
Joined: July 6, 2012
Last Seen: 3 years
user id: 315292
Gender: F


it was fun while it lasted

Quotes by vivre merveilleusement*








and he burns holes in your skin
with his mouth.




 

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AND I SHOULD'VE CRASHED THE CAR
when I was all alone.
ESCAPE FROM ALL I KNOW.

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I RAN AWAY FROM YOU, AND NOW
something's killing me. . .
YOU HANG ME UP AS A SOUVENIR OF WHAT I COULDN'T BE.

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The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of color — oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples...

— Anna Godberson

 


 
 
"You are in his car and your words taste like honey. The suns yolk is stretching over the road, with hues of pink and red ribbon pressed against the bruises of the sky. He is talking about mechanics or sugar factories, and you are touching the rings on your fingers. The windows are open and the wind is making a home in your bones. Your jeans are ripped, your perfume smells like lilacs, your nails painted the color of sea weed. You forget about noise. You forget about color. It’s your lungs - I think, it’s your lungs that are morphing into purple butter. You are in his car and you are Mozart composing art, Claude Monet painting Water Lilies, you are Aphrodite, you are Shakespeare. You are in his car and you can’t remember what salt feels like against your tongue. You are in his car and you are ocean, fire - lip, tongue, breath, sweat. You are in his car and you are telling him you love him. You are in his car and he is telling you he loves you back.”

— you are in his car (via irynka)

 

 
 
"It’s been three years and I still think of you sometimes. It’ll be raining and I’ll be wearing jeans with holes in them, smelling oddly of lilac perfume and fumes, orange lipstick on my mouth like skin and I’ll be riding the bus or buying a movie ticket or texting my mom and I’ll feel you in my bones. Just for a few seconds. Long enough for you to linger. Long enough for me to notice. It’s been three years and I still remember how your laugh tasted on my tongue, like honey and nectar and something else – something foreign. I hold your name in my liver like liquor, I hold your words in my spine like acid. It’s been three years and I miss you. Miss you so much it hurts my ribs some days. The sky is cracking and the sun is yolk and everything is smoke except the memory of you, the memory of us. It’s been three years and I still think of you sometimes.”

— i still think of you sometimes (via irynka)

 

 
 
"how fascinating it is that there are millions of people all over the world who are wide awake at 4am missing someone. and there are millions of people sound asleep at 4am, with no idea that they're being missed."

— please come back (via loxvinglys)

 

 
 
"i can only write poetry after three shots of vodka and a white blunt that reminds me of salt and your lips, my french professor thinks i'm having an affair with her son, i keep writing stories about children with orange hands, i keep making films about lovers who always die in car crashes, my mother tells me i am mentally ill, i don't like how the purple pills make me feel, the blue ones remind me of open doors, red roses are scattered across my liver, i am bleeding out memories of your laugh, i am building museums in my chest, tell me this isn't a poem, tell me this is just random words woven together, tel me that the graffiti on your hospital wall isn't art, tell me that clocks don't read time, i am holding hell in my mouth, my palms are covered in roaches, you want meaning in everything, you want to find change in the couch cushions but you have no house, you have no home - just a body and a canvas of bones, tied together with skin and one mouth, like a bullet for a bullet, ready to destroy; ready to build."

— (via irynka)

 
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I SPENT THE WINTER WRITING SONGS ABOUT GETTING BETTER,
a n d   i f   i ' m   b e i n g   h o n e s t. . .
I'M GETTING THERE.

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I CAME OUT SWINGING FROM A SOUTH PHILLY BASEMENT,
c a k e d-i n-s t a l e-b e e r-a n d-s w e a t,
UNDER HALF-LIT FLORESCENTS.

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