This is how we loved.
Not with mouths,
but with minefields.
We were two bodies starving—
digging through dirt
on the raw of our hands.
I never touched you like
waltzes in moonlight;
I touched like rabid dogs;
like forks in electrical sockets
and I’m sorry for that.
And you: a forgotten era.
You, who crawled
on your belly toward the light.
You, who ate the sun
to keep yourself shining.
You were scared of the dark
and I was scared of the dark
inside myself.
I sucked the light from
between your teeth
and left you a dying star
in an unnamed constellation.
I walked up the axis of the earth—
mud beneath my nails,
blood on my chin.
I met the moon halfway
and told her all about
the way I used to feel
when you would kiss me.
She’s still the only one who knows.
I took your light,
I’m sorry.
I didn’t know I had one of my own. Mercury and Mars, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)

(via latenightcornerstore)

298 notes


She flirted 
"write about me" 

and I told her
"break my heart first"

(via whileipondered)

92,431 notes
He turned me into an object and I turned him into a god. How sick is that? (via paintdeath)

(Source: beautyinthebellejar, via whileipondered)

16,061 notes
121,332 notes