Corrupted.

there are nights we cannot touch again; held sacred by the innocence that once surrounded them. 
a naivety that we've since broken - in violent and gentle ways.

adam and eve traded paradise for a taste of fruit,
so we traded trust with the knowledge of what a grown heart looks like when it's wrung dry.
we traded wonder with books on the human condition. 
and I traded you for a sense of freedom and a list of things I never even wanted to do. 

[you traded me before I had a chance to change my mind].

so here's to us, 
and to everything we lost when all the deals went through.

S. 

{Photo: Alyssa Jiosa Flickr}

dead summer .

lips red as sin, 
and the smell of something deep and lustful
dabbed to the wrists, the neck, 
the small of the back.

the room is full of people
or it is empty,
[i don't know the difference]. 

it seems we are all here for one hundred years
just trying to memorize dates, and times, and schedules,
and the recipe to a good chicken casserole. 
trying to memorize how our bodies work 
before they change again. 

and you are sitting across from me
in a room that's full or empty
[me, lips red as murder
you, a dirt smudged tan].

i've memorized the shades of brown and green 
and grey that make up your iris,
and i could recite your name in my sleep like a song
[i do].

but sitting here, my red sea lips 
refuse to part
the way i want them to. 

S.

{Photo via: We Heart It}

Tainted //

And all my woe is that now people are accustomed to say "Yes, jealousy is love,"  

and would excuse a bushel of venom because one grain of love is dropped into it. 

Troilus & Criseyde
edited by Gerard NeCastro 

{Photo: Lydia Greenaway Flickr}

Poisoned ink.

as much as i can claim that it happened years ago (or yesterday), it hasn't. 
i guess, when i've truly purged you from my system, i'll know. 

it will be when i go to write and you are not the one that leaks out. 

S. 

{Photo via: We Heart It}

[the hard way]

what do you say to the one who still has your heart 
after too many unclaimed years?

we would have fizzled like water on embers. 
we would have burned, long and deep. 
we would have hit the wall in a trillion sorry pieces. 

but i would have loved the chance to try.

S.

{Photo: Pilar Zeta's Blog} 

Flowerchild //

"You were once wild here. Don’t let them tame you."

Isadora Duncan

{Photo: Me}

I Don't Believe You.

He said I love you and it was soft and drawn out and utterly believable in every way it could be but I still didn't trust the earnest eyes and parched lips.

He moved his fingers on my hips like he was tracing the outlines of his heart or marking paths between my freckles. 

An organ in my chest moved in ways I thought could equal love, but it didn't quite make sense because of logic and basic biology. Because I know sensations aren't always real: you can feel heat when you're ice to the touch, movement in complete stillness, consciousness while dreaming. 

And you can feel something for earnest eyes and parched lips when the chemicals triggered by fingertips on skin don't balance out in the end. When all he ever was, was a handful of sensations that don't equate to much; don't equate to enough. 

And who cares now. He was lying, wasn't he.

S. 

{Photo via: We Heart It}

live.

we are here
to laugh
at the odds
and  live our lives 
so well that
death
will tremble
to take us

Charles Bukowski

{Photo via: We Heart It}

Ocean Dreams

"I need to breathe the sea." I said.
He said "That sounds a lot like drowning".

And I laughed because, it is.
It's like drowning backwards. 

When miles of land become a prison. Enclosing. Suffocating. Torture. 

When you can't breathe without the taste of salt and water in your lungs; the wild ocean winds controlling your hair. When it's gotten into your bloodstream - the rise and fall of the tides an addiction you cannot shake. 

"Almost," I said . 

S. 

{Photo via: We Heart It}

Joy -

“It was her habit to build up laughter
out of inadequate materials.”

John Steinbeck 

{Photo via: We Heart It}