palkia-dinosaur

    i.    The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message, let alone formulated time to write a reply. You still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by. You rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from your late Grandma Moses.     ii.     You lost your voice one day. You woke up to a hollow echo in the base your throat and knew you’d lost something special before you’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. Y

i. Anna collected stardust like pennies, except pennies are worth something. ii. Claire had ink running through her veins; dead, from an unsterilized needle. iii. Robin had birdbones strung together on windchimes. iv. Sarah’s eyes were always to the sky, and never on me. v. Lizbeth took my breath away with every punch to the stomach. vi. Rosalie had too many things in her ribcage; emotional adrenaline triggered her arrhythmia. vii. Emily left me for a boy with starrier freckles. viii. I am one cat away from a stereotype, or one girl closer to a happy ending.

yesterday i walked past the diner where we fell in love, and i thought i saw the waitress wave at me as i went by and i realized that the most terrible thing in the whole world would be you rereading all those text messages i sent you when i was stupid in love. those weren’t meant for you, okay, those were for the boy who split his milkshake with me and held my hand through an entire season of Friends and sat with me in silence on dirty rooftops while we smoked stolen cigarettes. look, i didn’t even mean to call the first time, but i was drunk and high and cold and my old favorite song came on the radio and i remembered how much

i remember you bribing gods you did not believe in           just to stay safe. dropping someone off     on the other side of town, you'd say "here is a good deed, let's hope this counts." i thought what kind of a heart is this,              racking up points before Christ. - now you say there is no entertainment other than warfare. lives stretch for so long               half the country stops drinking for new year's, instead staring into the frosty sky,     waiting for another missile or plane crash. the diseases you get stick along for the whole ride, siphoning life out. your lungs wilt and stick          like cobweb to a burnt

She was cute, funny, and timid; sitting three rows behind him; never speaking; laughing at his innocent clumsiness.  By the subtle glances he thought they exchanged, he knew she was something special.  She captivated his sorrowed tongue, deleted the salt from his spellbound eyes, evaporated the polluted puddle careening in his train-wrecked past, and he didn’t even know her name. You see, his previous infatuation wasted a year from his already-dwindling life, and his tolerance for heartache increased with every reminder of his infected memory.  He tamed nostalgia with painkillers and poetry, remedied strug

~~~~~~~~~~ I was happy once, in beautiful place, where my labour reaped reward and my heart had another to share its peace. There was closeness and affection mixed with a hard day’s work; At night my thoughts scrawled across crisp paper and come the morning I would send them off to be read. I was happy in this place but it was never to be my reward… Because come the morning I would always be reminded; this place was but a dream and I had never been happy. ~~~~~~~~~~ - Written by Word of Chen

Don't trust those pretty boys with tongues like switchblades, and fingers like petals. The musicians who charm the masses with ease They spread their soul with each word cutting deeper in to their existence wild and free knowing how to feel and how to hurt they'll show you how to feel too in shitty motel rooms against the crisp white cotton sheets igniting the fire within only to not extinguish it burning to ashes, you were the cherry on top the lit cigarette he smokes enough of you down, only to stub you out and make you crumble. Don't trust those boys with wild hair and silk lips with even smoother words that melt like candle wax, soft as t

you tuck your heart under your sleeve, under a wristwatch from World War I– the one passed down generation after generation after generation. you pretend love doesn't exist; and even if it did, you're immune to the power of emotion. your impeccable knowledge says: love is sundry chemicals in your brain, it can't hurt you because it's imaginary and you're so damn smart, you didn't even need to look sundry up in the dictionary& you're so damn smart, you didn't even need to look at me to make me fall              for you&fall        

dear girl, i think i don’t know you at all.  i think i don’t want to know you.  part of me doesn’t even believe that you’re real.  and i think i don’t care if you don’t care, because I don’t quite care myself.  not nearly as much as he pretends to care.  but if you don’t care, it doesn’t make much difference, now does it ? dear boy, i don’t know you either, but if you’re any less real than i am, you’ve got a long way to go.  you staple my eyelashes like incomplete schoolwork and raise my levied eyebrows like burnt bridges