Your mouth could do brutal things to my heart but you’re a risk I’m willing to fuck because I have a feeling your hands would do beautiful things to my thighs.
Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water. And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes you cannot even breathe deeply, and the night sky is no home, and you have cried yourself to sleep enough times that you are down to your last two percent, but
nothing is infinite, not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day you are going to find yourself again.
n. a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future—that pecks at the back your mind while you try to sleep, only to squawk when you try to feed it, that you can successfully ignore for weeks, only to feel its presence hovering just outside the window, waiting for you to finish your coffee, passing the time by quietly building a nest.
I like drinking coffee alone, and reading alone. I like riding the bus alone, and walking home alone. It gives me time to think, and set my mind free. I like eating alone, and listening to music alone. But when I see a mother with her child; A girl with her lover; Or a friend laughing with their best friend; I realize that even though I like being alone, I don’t fancy being lonely.
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and repeat after me with your heart:
"I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself."
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Your mouth
could do
brutal
things
to my
heart
but you’re a
risk
I’m willing to
fuck
because I have a feeling
your hands
would do
beautiful
things
to my
thighs.
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Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes
you cannot even breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
you have cried yourself to sleep enough times
that you are down to your last two percent, but
nothing is infinite,
not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again.
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what you were
will not happen again.
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nighthawk
n. a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future—that pecks at the back your mind while you try to sleep, only to squawk when you try to feed it, that you can successfully ignore for weeks, only to feel its presence hovering just outside the window, waiting for you to finish your coffee, passing the time by quietly building a nest.
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I like drinking coffee alone, and reading alone.
I like riding the bus alone, and walking home alone.
It gives me time to think, and set my mind free.
I like eating alone, and listening to music alone.
But when I see a mother with her child;
A girl with her lover;
Or a friend laughing with their best friend;
I realize that even though I like being alone,
I don’t fancy being lonely.
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you've gone off the rails
so don't get any big ideas
they're not gonna happen
you'll go to hell for what
your dirty mind is thinking
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I have survived
so many fires,
I can no longer tell
if I am still alive,
or simply burning.
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I have tried to love
so many other people
ever since I met you
just to see if I could
but their hearts were
strangers to mine,
and those strangers
made me miss you.