flock of synopsis
no rhyming here.

red buds
rose rage.
time travel
prodigy.
nose bleeds
chest heaves.
i’ll be the
last left
to believe.

i don’t care, you’ll tell me words.
i’ll tell you to stop because
that’s life getting too complicated.
there’s a heat wave in your
rib cage, and a rattlesnake in
your brain. you won’t lose it.
you won’t lose your mind.

i promise you’ll be okay.

Trees and things like that.

i like how trees settle in
the sky like a wet oil painted
picture; the roots dug into
the ground, the crown gracing
the clouds… in motion, it sways.
the sun falls to sleep into the shallow
places in between the hills. and
the Moon says hello. the tree dances
into the night. it’s alive. alive and well.
it let’s the wind and the Moon
take it away.

the night of whiskey
is still lingering on my tongue and
the imprints of unwanted
sexual advances still rest
like dirt on my body. the
music is still loud, vibrating
my ears, and those seeking refuge
in full glasses of cheap rail
liquor aren’t escaping any
reality.

i wish it was that easy.

I hope there are days when you fall in love with being alive.
Anonymous (via canhappenlove)
Hey, would you care to check out my poems? :) Have a great day.

I would love to!

Intimacy is not who you let touch you. Intimacy is who you text at 3am about your dreams and fears. Intimacy is giving someone your attention, when ten other people are asking for it. Intimacy is the person always in the back of your mind, no matter how distracted you are.
(via queerkaitlin)
socialfoto:

Dandelion Dew by michaeltodddundon #SocialFoto

socialfoto:

Dandelion Dew by michaeltodddundon #SocialFoto

connect the moles.

i did. i traced them until the end.

they said goodbye. goodnight.

i love seeing writers
crawl into their
scabrous shells,
only to come out with
a different facade.
they are restless,
they are sour…
they are the veins of
Mother Nature creeping
from the darkest places.
they are wreckless,
they are wild,
half dead and half alive -
leaving their shriveled
roots to be their last
refresh.

He offered her the world. She said she had her own.
Monique Duval (via flock-of-synopsis)
-dkfsw

-dkfsw

flock-of-synopsis:

steady rains
are already
poetic enough
so they don’t
need anyone
to write on
their behalf.

flock-of-synopsis:

the City lights can claim a Fool like me. though, i’d rather have the Moon.

flock-of-synopsis:

the City lights can claim a Fool like me. though, i’d rather have the Moon.

flock-of-synopsis:

history takes ahold
in a whole new world;  
lovers lost and gone, 
not forgiven or forgotten. 
treading on different paths, 
knowing, 
behind our eyes, 
our shadows once danced-
like heaven and earth were real. 
but they’re not. 

it came like a dream 
at it’s best climax, 
and ended like a war 
of dying soldiers; 
our own blood 
on our own hands.  
with nobody 
who understood enough 
to provide asylum.

flock-of-synopsis:

history takes ahold
in a whole new world;
lovers lost and gone,
not forgiven or forgotten.
treading on different paths,
knowing,
behind our eyes,
our shadows once danced-
like heaven and earth were real.
but they’re not.

it came like a dream
at it’s best climax,
and ended like a war
of dying soldiers;
our own blood
on our own hands.
with nobody
who understood enough
to provide asylum.