won't you let me feel like a real devil

to have loved and been loved, past tense, still matters. love isn't less real when it's impermanent.

to have loved and been loved, past tense, still matters. love isn't less real when it's impermanent.

to have loved and been loved, past tense, still matters. love isn't less real when it's impermanent.

there isnt much you can do without trust. without trust, how could we do anything? how could we tell jokes, laugh in open air, cry on shoulders, eat and sleep and ask? how could we even leave our beds without trusting the world and ourselves to be gentle enough to be worth it?

i want to be careless. i want to care less.

you are not the enemy. you are not hated. how arrogant are you, to think that you consume so much of their thoughts? you haven't done enough wrong. you are not bad enough.

calm waters become raging waves become a wailing downpour become a whispering fog become calm waters again. settle, settle, let it move through you.

if i eat your heart, i will become it. is that not how it works? let me gently break your ribs so i can crawl inside your chest. i love you like a storm loves the ocean, like a fire loves a field. i want to live in you, off you, dying in your destruction.

if you find something holy in her eyes, be not afraid. if her words are hymns to your ears, if her smile is light in your eyes, find solace on your knees. we are worshipful by nature. with palms up and lips parted, revere her.

we are pounding our fists against the cage of our ribs, begging to be let out. we are struggling, stifled and constrained in the suffocating blanket of a culture that wishes we would be quiet, quiet, shhh. be good, now, don't make a fuss, said in the stern condescension of adults who think they know better. we are locked in our rooms at the tops of towers, crying silently, wanting to be free.

he has beautiful doe eyes and im like a ford f-150 going 80mph in the middle of the night

we are making and unmaking ourselves with each breath. our fingers score patterns in the clay of our flesh, shaping and reshaping each other with a touch.

you always want what isn't yours. don't you know that's a sin? don't you know that anything less than bowing your head, accepting what you are given, starving silently, is wrong? do not ask for things that aren't yours or they will scream.