Poems Quotes

He had the bluest, saddest f.u.cking eyes. He was a vision of perfection, man, but I could never enjoy the view with all that melancholy seeping out his pores.

We will go night swimming and I will lose myself in the infinite greenness of your eyes, the density of your bones, and the soft, placid flesh that drapes across your skeleton. I will touch your chest and feel the endorphins that roll within your blood, and I will smile into you neck because I know that this irregularity is just for me.

Looking Forward:
Hopes are shattered, love is gone.
Life is broken, but look beyond.
The sun and moon will light your way.
Although it’s hard, don’t be dismayed.
Overcome the pain you feel.
Lift up your head, accept this deal:
You’re all you need to make you smile.
And love will come, if in a while.

oh, the silent room. it is so fantastic, so still and hushed but i feel the infinite buzz of lost static and it roars into my ears, my brain. i can feel the movement as it transcends from one being to another and i am all at once hearing the earth. i am hearing the cries of extinct things and of chernobyl and i can hear the leftovers of expired television shows that play on repeat in impoverished houses. i can feel the collision of a meteorite against the hard foundation of the earth, of where i am right now and it is so peaceful to be at one with the silence that is such an oxymoron unto itself. oh, the silent room; how loud it can be.
I feel like my emotions can run through tides of red. I am wrong, I know. But I can pretend, and I can be distracted by false relief.
I'm asked all of these questions, I'm asked "If f(x,y) := x2y, then what does ∂f/∂x equal?" and I know it, I do, but I'm so tired and I don't care. I want to know why I feel this way, I want to know why I want to die and why I hurt myself even on good days. I want to know why math is more important than my life and why a grade is greater than my health. The only answer I have so far is 2xy.

Why are words so hard to come by?
I remember being young and staring at stickers that glowed green within the darkness - I remember staring at them constantly, feeling words I did not know because I was eight and dumb. I remember meeting a boy with dark corn-rowed hair and wondering why I was so mean even though I liked him. I remember seeing a girl in my class and hating her guts almost instantly because she was tan and blonde and I sat in the back of class looking ashen and pallid. For so many years I did not know the words for any of these things - these feelings, and now that I am old and all opportunities have passed me by I still only understand a little of what I am trying so desperately to say.

I like your crooked teeth and I like your messy hair. I like the warmness of your hands; how they hold mine with great care. I like the paleness of your face, how I can make it burn bright red. How when I stare you start to jitter and look upon the ground instead. I like the way you like my eyes and the way you joke and tease, how just one of your simple smiles can weaken both my knees. I like how much you like me, we both know that it's true, but I'm still terrified of how I'm so in love with you.

I am drunk and I do not understand at thing but this angel who is beside me - This angel, who is sitting...waiting, I think. I do not know. I am too busy staring, steadfastly ignoring the blood that fills my shoes. I can taste the vomit in my mouth but I shut it down - I shut it off - because this angel cannot see me in this state; this mad, howling, pathetic way in which I sway and swish; how I bemoan cheap rum that tastes of 409 and treacle. I feel so deep underwater when she looks my way, this angel - this thin goddess who has strange small teeth and bird bones. she looks at me and I want to vomitvomitvomit. She must know, because she smiles like a waif with her eyes red as I tremble and sway. oh god, I am dyingdyingdying. I want to die. I want to sacrifice myself to the porcelain god and vanish into that place where people mingle and hide in perfect synchronisation. I see she is gone and I am high; I do not understand my elation at having missed the chance to touch an angel but then I shudder and vomit onto my shoes - the rum the vodka the coke, it hits me in tides of violent sluggish brown and I soon realise that I could have just soiled an angel in my own stupid intoxication. yet here I am, alone, with blood in my shoes and vomit in my hair. I wonder what my life has become.
And I think there is something broken inside of me.
I am just struggling to find it.
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