Leave it to a thing so cruel as love To do what life had failed alone To ever do before; to move A man to macabre martyrdom, Nailed to a self-made crucifix, Silent, solemn, shorn soul screaming, Broken by forbidden dreaming.
“What do you want?” he asked. And she replied, “I don’t know.”
Because she couldn’t decide between bricks of bartered and broken things. She wanted to dance barefoot in moonlight and feel the blades of grass cut and tickle her naked soles like velvet-lined stares.
She wanted to write intentionally misdirected homophones that make you think. She wanted to bring that moment into being. She wanted to find new ways to fall apart. She wanted to sing your lullabies to sleep. She wanted to outdo you. She wanted you to outdo her.
She wanted to get drunk and fall on ceramic tile that felt as soft as down. She wanted to fuck the sun up and have private laughs over breakfast in a public place. She wanted to feel a world as real as breathing. She wanted to steal a thought as true as you and run away with it until she was out of breath. When she stopped, she’d look at it, glowing in her hands opened as cautious and careful as the sun in the hands of an angel, and she’d smile, and she’d blow.
You are the dandelion, dear, and she is the breeze. She’ll do nothing more than blow you, and only by stances both circum and happen. These fires are freezes you will never know. The flames are delicate, and drift like dandelion dander to the depths of your soul. You’ll never notice until you do. She is a subtle and supple thing.
“What do you want?” he asked. And she replied, “You.”
Lover, consume me. Let your lips be those that taste the laughter spilling from my own. Lust, greedily, after my reasoning; feast on that which excites me. Lick your fingertips fervently after you have dipped them in my thoughts. Lover, consume me, from the inside out.
“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.”—Elie Wiesel (via karmacircle)
it was so much like a match diving down the neck of a gas can with the mood of an innocent man on his execution day trapped in a place too loud to think today was like driving the wrong way down a one way street