YOU ARE THE REASON
The Bowery Presents
@theartofmadeline
Xuebing Du
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Discoholic 🪩
shark vs the universe
Today's Document
One Nice Bug Per Day
h
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Love Begins
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Sade Olutola
Show & Tell
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Misplaced Lens Cap
Keni
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@drowsyimaginings
i woke up holding the memory of a hand that i swore was real (for what felt like an eternity)
a ghost of a hand held once, phantom lips probably kissed, these are things I can remember that never happened. (a cruel joke played by my unconscious mind; a punishment for wishful thinking)
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cosmos
we are all made of star stuff remnants of deaths from before you were a thought (you hold constellations in your teeth, binaries where they overlap) we were an accident: a chance meeting of interstellar dust
(what if a breeze picked us up and we were lightyears away doomed to drift apart)Â
and you wouldve been a heavenly body to be named after some mythic hero (one lost to the ages, remembered only on accident) the stars that died to make you were perhaps the brightest any had seen (but the brightest stars only burn half as long)Â
constellations are just a loose group of stars that someone so long ago decided had a meaning,Â
but some of those stars have probably burnt up, vanished from space long before we knew they would.Â
what happens to a constellation when the stars are gone and the shape has changed? does it get a new shape, a new name? another invented meaning that will only change as time marches on and seemingly infinite balls of gas run out?
our constellation was half finished. you could see the shape, but only on the right night and if you squinted, but it was there (sort of). stars half burnt out and stars never lit
years from now that constellation wont exist, but the memory of its shape will be somewhere (in an outdated textbook, once ruined by a spilled cup, perhaps)
I want to write a poem for you, but I can't. I want to write about how we kissed that night, how sweet it was when lips met lips, but I don't have the words. I want to write about how you make me feel, but I'm too confused to try. (or am I just confused about you and writing would only turn this into something. something it can't be.)
Smoke hits my nose, nearly nauseating, but not quite. When it mixes with your scent, I need it the most.Â
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your smoke
I take a deep breath; Your smoke fills my lungs. I hate this; I need this, the smell of smoke.
The smell of it in the air suffocates me, leaves me at the brink of death where I remember being pressed against the glass of that window, smoke still on your breath and tongue, hoping someone else might see us there.
But now I'm here, catching a whiff of the smoke from someone else. Thinking of you.
There's a poem to be written here about what happened that night. How you reached deep into my throat and pulled up teeth and how I did the same to you.
(You can still see it on my face the crimson burn)
There's a poem to be written here but I'm afraid to write it if I write it, I might let this become too real and end up buried in pages and pages of poems for you. Poems you'd never read.
There's a monster in my chest. His name is Love, Desire, Passion.
I want to kill him, but gods can't die. Unless you stop believing.
(I don't think I can or should or really want to.)
i got a bite but now my lips are left aching for another
io
you came to me like a fog and wrapped yourself around my being before I could even let out a screech i was changed. a strange approximation of someone with a heart left to wander the earth searching for something like an answer or a way out once i've gotten my non-answer i'm back to normal (or something close to it)
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ok the same thing in both latin and english
desidero te basiare sic meam labiam mordeo
i want to kiss you so i bite my lip
Bittersweet eros wings beating against my chest
Oh how I want To tear those wings off throw them to the ground And see if your blood is bitter sweet?
I'm Vesuvius
I feel warm. Like there's a fire under my skin looking for a crack to tear open and just Erupt.Â
there's plenty of fish in the sea but i'm at a lake and i don't know how to fishÂ
tv taught me how to feel
my life just might not be a tv show like i always said it was. there are no seasons, no story arcs, no special guest stars who turn into new regulars. this season ended but there was nothing to show for it. maybe this season isn't even over yet, like we're just on a midseason break. and the producers are just saving all those guest stars for when we get back. yeah that'll boost ratings. introduce great new characters just before we take another break. well it would give me something to look forward to once we get back.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Russian
Sing to me the sweetness Hidden in those crisp harsh words
I thought I was ready ready to pull that band-aid off Slowly but surely ease into the pain
I tore it off too fast it ripped hair from my skin peeled into that wound I thought was scarred over  oozing blood that turned sourÂ
it makes my lips pucker for something that won't come