#shakingwhispers

And tell me— how do I keep loving you while knowing, deep down, that none of this should have ever been?

I am tired of being a skyscraper, ONLY WILD THINGS OUTLIVE THEIR BONES

s.a.,  of curiosity drenched in wine

when is a breath a breath--when is it a cry for help? i think i found the line. when she screams i bolt. i leave the house in just my socks. it’s raining. i go to the creek to watch it overflow. it swells like a wound with pus and i think about all the frogs that used to live here, so many you could scoop them up in buckets, wet, soft, docile.  the frogs are gone now. i don’t know where. i think my breath is a cry and my cry is for help.  i left the door swinging open, summer drowning the air.  cool indifference spilling onto the front step. when is my body a body and when is it a knife slicing through the frantic dusk? somewhere in the house my mother sits on a ruined throne. she is calling out. we cannot hear eachother.

la llorona  - l.cortez

throat, and oh god, does it remind me of you.

Landscapes i [a series] // Sunnie Lyca