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No A(n)esthetic

Pale. Poetic. Plain.

Never Again

Apr 21st at 12AM / 11 notes

I think about never kissing you again,
And I can feel my teeth crack,
One at a time,

I think about never smelling your hair again,
And I can feel my lungs collapse,
Quickly, all at once,

I think about never holding you again,
And I can feel my ribs break,
With a slow crunch. 


There are no more letters to re-read,
There are no more phone calls to have,
There are no more afternoon tea parties,
There are no more trips to the thrift store,
Our pockets half empty,
Our gas tank, half empty,
Our conversations half empty,
There are no more texts to return too late,
There are no more dresses to lend,
There are no more dates to keep,
You’re gone,
And you took part of me when you went,
There are no more tissues to catch me,
There are no more words to scream,
There are no more wrists to slice,
There are no more spaces to clean,
My bedroom half empty,
My body half empty,
My life half empty,
My poetry half empty. 

it never stops

Apr 14th at 1AM / 5 notes

I’m going to open a store called “Anxiety Embroidery,” and just sell everyday objects with sad things hastily embroidered into them. Some things will have blood and tear stains. Some things will be indecipherable.

Apr 12th at 1PM / 0 notes

This was a brilliantly bad idea. 

Apr 10th at 4PM / 2 notes

Oh, by the way, if any of you lovely people have snapchat and want to see lots of pictures of food and my myface and of me stuffing my face with food, add me: UkulEllie

Apr 9th at 10PM / 2 notes

Someone come bludgeon me to death with an anthology of poetry,
I don’t want to be alone tonight,
I don’t want to be alone,
And words will be good company,
And bludgeon is one of my favourites,
And god, what a way to go,

Someone come drown me with peppermint tea,
I don’t want to be awake tonight,
I don’t want to be awake,
And tea makes you sleepy, right?
And mint is one of my favourites,
And god, what a way to go,

Apr 8th at 2AM / 4 notes

Read More

Apr 7th at 12PM / 2 notes

I’ve come to the conclusion that second-semesters are always just a cocktail of apathy and insomnia. 

5 Reasons

Apr 6th at 1PM / 6 notes
  1. Mother, you have carried so much hurt inside of your bones for as long as I have known your voice. I know you love how much I look like you. I know you hate how much I feel like you. Because though you think that I am beautiful, you still think that your body is a natural disaster, a graveyard, a let-down, a murderer. I can still hear it in your voice every March. I can still see it in the grey around your temples. I can still feel it when you hold me close and say, “Do you really have to go?” And I get on a bus to New York. Sometimes you still check my wrists. Keep looking for scars, mama. Keep feeling for my pulse.
  2. Lover, I need to kiss you again. My mouth is still too hungry to stop. I never should have stopped. I’m sorry that I stopped. Come lay in my bed so we can begin again. I will look at you with misty slate-grey eyes and sigh your name a thousand times. I love you to the point of tears, I love you to the point of broken bones, I love you to the bottom of this hill and back, I love you to the darkest part of the forest; I don’t want to stop. I think about the way you’d hear this tree fall, about the way that Autumn would break your heart every year after that. I think about the way your body felt when it was made of sadness, I think about the way you sing. Please keep singing. Please. 
  3. Poetry, you and I are not done. I only ever want to say beautiful things, but I know that’s not how you work. You have planted yourself in my stomach. I suspect there will by sunflowers in my mouth this Spring. You peculiar thing- sucking the life out of me, just to put it back in again.
  4. Rain, I cannot leave you here. I do not know if there will be rain in the afterlife, but I’m not willing to bet on it. You are one of the most beautiful things that I have ever know. A symbol of starting fresh, a cleansing, a drowning, an everything. Oh, rain. For every puddle I splashed in as a child, for every time I left the window open to let you in, for every time I sang to you to ‘please stay,’ hoping my voice was louder than all the other children, for every time you listened- I’d miss you so much. 
  5. Father, I know you love me. I know you do. I know it. I know. 

Apr 3rd at 2AM / 4 notes

I can’t scream loud enough,
I can’t hear over my heartbeat,
Do you hear this thunder?
Do you feel this earthquake?
Tonight, I’m drowning in your name,
Tonight, you’re flooding my body,
Is this my pillow talk?
Is this my panic?

Apr 2nd at 12PM / 5 notes

I feel your hands on my skin when I’m sleeping alone,
I taste your shoulder in my mouth when I’m dreaming of home,
I have a pocket full of words you whispered to my lips,
I’ll have a hard time coping when I awake from all of this. 

"I should have kissed you longer."

Mar 30th at 8PM / via: howempty / op: pakalmot / 381,164 notes

Wake Up

Mar 29th at 3PM / 6 notes

April showers,
Super powers,
Brandon Flowers,
Happy hours,
Fawlty Towers,
Cherry sours.

Baking Soda

If my tired bones finally snap,
Would you break your weary back,
Bending over pages,
(Denial’s the best of the stages),
And would you bleed me back to life,
Every stroke of your pen, a skilled surgical knife,
Would you throw yourself into your work,
And make of me, something of worth,
Or would you buckle under my weight,
If I finally took that bait,
Would you curl up into yourself,
Feed your emptiness, deny your health,
Would you flinch at the sound of my name,
Would you never ever be the same?
I wonder these things in dreaming state,
My mind so bizarre and full of self-hate,
But when I come back to the living world,
I know I’ll never be your baking soda girl.