LiquidAyre: The air was full Of the tattered remains Of cotton sheets Kids ran out...

Feta’s Note: Love this. Love the short lines, the choppiness of it. The innocence of it. Cool stuff. 

liquidayre:

The air was full 
Of the tattered remains 
Of cotton sheets 
Kids ran out 
to catch the flakes on their tongues 
To cough up 
and wretch 
With every taste 
They knew no better 
They knew nothing 
Television told them to dance in the rain 
So they would dance when it rained 
Dance when it poured 
But when you had only ever watched rain 
On fading monitors 
In dingy bedrooms 
Late at night 
How would they know the difference 
When the heavens open 
and it all falls from the sky 
When ash and fire rain down on us 
The lords mighty hands pull us in toward him 
In the final attempts to save us 
I hope I can still find the time 
To dance in the rain

of pretty boys, fanfiction & dressing like a clown: There are coin slots on the wall. I bought three drachmas from the...

Lauren’s note: There is something really striking about this piece.

ofringmasters:

There are coin slots on the wall. 

I bought three drachmas from the geeky pretty boy in Malcolm Hall and I paid him three hundred in fifties, exactly. He salutes and promptly ignores me for the secrets that his calculator keeps. I walk away without a curtsy. 

There are posters on your door. 

I bought tickets from that old, dusty cinema on the 10th for a movie that would show next week. Tickets, I bought two. I know you’d rather build your kingdom on soda cans and green Lego but it’s really rather nice to have a crumpled remembrance of my worth inside a cracking leather wallet. 

There’s a monster in my head.

You bang on my door, that’s how we first met. You bang on my door and yell, and shout and say, “Damn it, I’m trying to sleep”. But I open the door in an Of Monsters and Men t-shirt that doesn’t quite cover the cells that make up my thighs and you are reduced to a whisper of “Are you alright?” I tell you it’s just a bad dream. 

And I’m wondering if you’d maybe
want to save me. 

better to reign in hell: Shema, Hero

Lauren’s note: This hits hard.

asterismaux:

Boom!boom!boom!
Atomic bombs cause
cancer, but
he hasn’t died yet.
His father explodes
night after
night,
but L stands for
the shape of a bruise
on his cheek,
for leukemia
and for love,
which are the same thing.
His mother
is a shadow burnt
in the kitchen wall;
he waits for explosions
there, because
flat eyes can still see.
There wasn’t
a body,
just a scream lost
in the silence.
He can’t even
peel away the carbon.
The soot washes off
and he dreams of hallucinogenic
mushrooms,
not clouds.
Boom!boom!boom!
Atomic bombs cause
cancer, and
he hasn’t got it yet.

i write stuff: my life is now an insurance policy

Feta’s Note: Never really thought about how much life could be worth(less), not like this. Love this.

musexmuse:

i wonder what my life is worth to people
like, if they had to buy it in stores
an alternate universe where you didn’t make friends

you
bought
them

like everyone realized just how contrived relationships are
so you could go into a store, probably wal-mart 
(10% off sexy friends - friends you can feel superior to in the clearance isle)
i can see it now
my life has secure plastic packaging, mint out of the box
w/ 25% coupon on bonus friends with fucked up addictions,
depressions, minds, and existential failures

i come with deluxe features such as:

-neurotic tendencies like picking at myself, twitching,
and obsessive cleaning 


-a complete confusion about life and what it means to be living
“live fast and horribly and then regret it the second you go from living to dead!”

-“what are friends?”

- i can kiss you and then leave you and then fuck you and fuck you and then
you can know what its like, to have been with such an impotent soul

i’d be the type of product that you can
never seem to find in good condition
i always look like some kid, some dumb fucking kid (person)
had came and accidentally dropped me or stepped on my head
im always scuffed and bruised, the package is never really closed

today my mom took out a life insurance policy on me
as of may 1st, my life will have a pricetag of $6900, pick it up now

Shubey's Words: Salvation

Feta’s Note: This is very uplifting. I love the message in these beautiful words.

shubeyd:

Today,

I don’t want

you to open

your medicine cabinet.

Your body deserves

more than cure teasers.

In which those

abundance of pills,

act as.

For now,

allow yourself 

to adapt the 

raw strength exposed

between these lines.

Day by day,

place holy spirit

on your prescription.

Side effects alone,

have outdone any

medication.

When the night,

buys out time

for you to 

go without resting.

Let future blessings

enrich your focus,

over the deprivation 

of sleep.

Unlike your pest

of pestilence,

the finest health 

will be given

to keep.

Together we still

await when death,

will only have its

grim to reap.

Becoming forever non-existent,

as its mythical being.

This world is

an eyesore,

soon to be

denied of sightseeing.

Long live the days.

When we’re able

to enhance,

our views with

this paradise vision.

Oh, darling, do -hyphens- make you breathless too?: Day XVI: Constellations

Feta’s Note: I love the flow of this poem, I felt like I was dancing through it. I love love love this.

magpiewords:

Twenty minutes to midnight.

He was lying s u p i n e on a park bench

fingers intertwined loosely with hers

as she perched on the armrest

legs
       vaguely kicking into thin air

(so far so good).

He had a ~thing~ for astrophysics

and she had a thing

for him.

Because at least he made sense -

          real tangible sense

not like the universe with its expansions(?) into nothingness(?)

She tilted her head back into the comforting embrace

of Orion’s Belt

because that was the one thing she could wrap her head around

the desire to c       n       c       t  .       h         d      t

                         o        n      e          t      e   .      o     s

at least h a l f - way

: you know, she never could find poor Orion’s head

or the rest of him

she’d searched it up too often to count

and forgotten it each time

(in the red shift

of her memories.)

she told him this

in the fading wind

~i really don’t know, i just like connecting dots

in the metaphorical sense

and crossed her fingers and her toes

(so far, so good)

and the pure nothingness

of the silence

knocked the

breath

right out of her

but she’d planned this e v e r y night when she just couldn’t sleep and it

was too late (a minute to midnight) to stop now

so she whispered

barely finding voice

~but why do you bother? here, now, with me?

and damn, what

a

setup.

He looked up

and looked her in the eye

and called her darling

(so far, so good)

and told her to

connect . the. dots.

and kissed her.

and by this point

she might’ve been dreaming but who cared about Orion’s

belt when her hands were trailing down to his own?

Read, listen, watch. 

five—a—day:

Exhibit X

I learned in school that war is what happens 
when nations disagree, but the textbooks never told me 
that war is also what happens when parents disagree, 

and when children throw insults harder than they hit baseballs
and when I cannot force myself out of bed in the morning 
because there is a voice in my head that tells me 
I might win the battle, but I will not win the —

War is what happens when teachers call on students
who don’t have the answers and they are left 
fighting their father once he sees their report card. 
War is what happens when it rains so hard 
blades of grass bend over defeated. 
War is what happens over telephone wires when a son 
tells his mother he is gay and her white flag 
of surrender is the phone going dead.

I have seen war burst into being the moment girls think 
they’re too old to hold hands and again some years later when 
they’re too young to do more than that, but charge forwards regardless only to end up with semen exploding inside them like shrapnel.

I have seen war across some people’s wrists.
I have seen it in bones trying to revolt from the flesh.
I have seen it in eyes like double whiskey shots
that are drunk off self-hatred.

I was taught that war was loud. It was supposed to be
bombs and a dictator’s speech and the sound of an entire race 
being crossed off one by one, like the days of a calendar.
And I can agree that this is war, but war can also be quiet.

War can be as quiet as a miscarriage.
Or the therapy sessions afterwards, which is quieter even.

It can be as silent as a gas leak.

They asked me in sixth grade what war meant to me
and I told them about the Holocaust, I told them about the Jews.
I didn’t tell them about the boy across the road from me
whose father used his forearms as ashtrays and whose eyes
were the American flag: star-spangled.

I didn’t tell them about women that have their bodies claimed 
like new worlds, or men who punch walls and wear their bruised knuckles like honour badges for all the tears they haven’t cried because 
they were raised to be soldiers and soldiers do not cry.

I didn’t mention any of these things because I was taught 
that war was big. It was something that happened between countries 
and it happened with armies and guns and nuclear weapons.

But if they asked me now—if they asked me now
what war meant to me, I would tell them that war is what happens 
inside people, and I would show them this poem as my evidence.

Words from the Craziest Horror Fiction Night Lady.: For the Loveliest Veracity.

Feta’s Note: I really enjoyed the language in this poem, and the use of nature. Love this.
descriptionwithoutlabels:

For those asphyxiating months,
you were the hole
in my heart to breathe through, 
and when I tasted air 
it was soaked with your mildew, 
Miss Lavender Mouth. 
I could inhale every wobbly particle
for lack of gentle air.

My love is amorous, enamored of you, 
melodramatic. Sometimes I want to romance you, 
to rub your bones callow and clean, but mostly
your marrow makes me crazy. 
I must love 
your favorite insanity; it is
a fact of my biology. 

My chemicals swam out to sea, 
and I was the one who returned.
I yearned
a little less shamefully, 
and I yearned for you, 
who I thought was my moon
but could never be anything but the ocean. 
Joy over, light below, 
not bellowing as loud as curdled curses, 
but illuminating all the dirt within pools, 
musky as reverence inside hospitals. 

Your water is so sweltering
all my scars turn violet. 
I sigh with my stomach: my 
lungs taste colors they never knew, 
but always had to exist 
inside the place where your
breath meets mine. .

Words in Adequacy: Thoughts about you

thatcellblocktango:

I think that you are a real person.
In this world of facades and hidden thoughts and masks, you are real.
You see that my lips are superglued into the tilt of a smile; permanent like that of the earth.
And we revolve around each other. Our paths have crossed in this solar system; our stars have passed each other by, our thoughts have connected, our eyes have met and our lives have intertwined.
there is fact, and there is fate.
there is decision, and there is destiny.
there is hell, and there is hope.

there is you, and there is me.