a collection of tags on tumblr that sound like poetry as roleplay sentence starters. feel free to change wording / pronouns / etc. as needed !

( source )

what you touch touches you back.

we fell apart like two branches from the same tree ; your name overlaps my orchard ; do you remember me ?

i have no other homeland but you.

i’m sorry , my love. i deserve this destruction.

this again. this always maybe.

i knew you by your name before it was yours.

i’ll write my own happy ending. i beg for this to not end in tragedy.

no better love that has ever loved me.

i want a love that falls as fast as a body from a balcony.

it starts with a lamb and ends with the murder of the very person you should love most.

this hunger cannot be sated.

i had a fever until i met you now you make me cool.

somedays i take my memory and play pretend. not reliving pasts , just dreaming that is only existed in my head. perhaps it did.

so cold no fire can warm me.

our hands dirtied by the others’ desire. i will declare my love with a slaughter.

tenderness sharper than any razor.

i just want to be good again.

how could you leave me when i needed to possess you ? i hated you. i loved you too.

we are all just trying to be holy.

i would have died for you but i never had the luck.

half agony , half hope.

look at the clouds in the sky. they mean nothing but they are there and they are pretty. isn’t that nice ?

if you be the one to cut me i’ll bleed forever.

wasting years chasing ghosts.

it squeezes and writhes and we call it love.

as certain dark things are to be loved.

i pity those that loves what must die and those that love nothing.

the color of anger and love is red.

if you’re hurting so am i.

when the world does not leave you room for love it doesn’t simply disappear. it reshapes itself into something cruel and monstrous and greedy and desperate. and still. there is love.

i love you as icarus loved the sun. too close , too much.

this whole cursed love. and i will wage wars in your name.

love is a verb. it’s a verb.

you are not obligated to finish it. you are not free to abandon it. you cannot stop spring from coming.

some day i want to write letters like this to the girl i love.

i am desperate for a language to hold me.

i call you and you don’t come. i love you and you don’t come.

i want to be a body for you.

more on my cruelty and strange wishes and mortified were my desires.

no matter how long we wanted to hold it in our trembling hands.

you wanted to burn.

yesterday i thought and i went : i think i already lost the person who was the light and the person who understood and maybe it cripples me.

i am your echo. i would rather break the world than lose you.

we call up our angels to cut us down.

what if we traded hands ?

you were the brightest shade of sun i had ever seen.

we are made of each other.

our hands empty except for our hands.

you die like angels sing.

and this too is home. this too is comfort.

there’s a paradise that couldn’t capture that bright infinity inside your eyes.

there’s so much love in my me it spills onto the floor and i slip and bruise my knees but still i get up again and love.

no longer at war with the world.

every story ever told is a story about love. we are always asking do you love me and the answer is always yes.

dreaming it only happened in my head.

this is the way it feels to me. can you understand what i’m saying ? does it feel this way to you ?

to be loved is to be known.

i hope it finds me.

we should share a kitchen. i’d happily let you use my knife.

you were dancing and singing and i was staring. you asked if i was falling in love. and the promise we made to each other stopped me from lying to you again. i said yes and you stopped smiling. but you kept dancing and i stayed watching.

the moon has favorites.

this is how we burn. what is done in love is done well.

this body is a blunt instrument.

sometimes the things that appear to be the most beautiful also happen to be the most terrifying.

you find beautiful things in the simplest places.

love is something so beyond comprehension.

what love looks like.

the words are new but the story isn’t. love is what’s familiar. i am in a strange country and i am at home. love is my home.

i am simply romanced.

love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.

love is the holiest thing i know.

i write to you in strings but this is me , the truth of me , as i do so : broken open by the act in the palm of your hand dying.

this makes my heart feel like the ocean.

you’re my sanctuary , where i run.

i want a love that cuts deep like a knife. like a coyote sinking its teeth into a rabbit. it’s self love if i can’t figure out where you end where i start when you put your hands on my hips. when i’m suspended in your teeth and for an eternal moment you too are being hunted. and the end of that moment happens when neither of us are sure who consumed who.

i’d like to send you poetry but you said you don’t understand it.

the world turns. i wake up and i am still in love. it has been years. still i love you as much as i did when i was fifteen.

how i wish to join the song but i know not the words.

to the you in my poems.

i say unto the stranger : how can you witness such glimpses of words and deny the rest of the world love ?

to be heard , to be seen ; isn’t that the love that can take you home ?

you’re the only thing i know like the back of my hand.

i wish your hands were holding my face.

when we started dating i used to say that every song and poem felt like it was about him. and now after his death every song and poem is about him again.

i want to be yours.

Quotes : Jonathan Safran Foer // Albert Camus // Donna Tartt // Donna Tartt // Friedrich Nietzsche // Edgar Allen Poe // Rainer Maria Rilke //

“oh what is this? a pitiful attempt to get me on your side?” her tone turns poisonous, eyes glaring at the ancient. a better story… sure, he is not wrong. this is not the life she had wanted, nor is it one she wishes to keep, but it is nothing he can change. “will you tell me about the old days? how happy the world used to be?”

Excerpt from Modern Romantics // L.H.Z

(via

lhzthepoet

NO FAITH COMES WITHOUT COST.    no one believes without dying    –    there are no curses.    only mirrors held up to the souls of GODS & mortals.