keep killing me more and more every time you put a fucking bottle in my trash can and not in your recycling bin just shoot me really
tryna be so tan and freckly sipping cocktails in a street side cafe like now now now now
if your love is honey don’t lick it all
You know how you’re seven and you’ve known everyone you know forever and they’re always gonna be there and your mom has all these stories about old friends and you don’t understand because everyone will always be there but then you’re 20 and you’re like everyone will not always be there and there’s all these people and moments that are so so so far away that you don’t remember how you could have ever lived all of them?
you’re walking home in the snow and it’s late and you got up early and you feel that crunch under your feet and your hands are so cold your fingers feel like they could crack off and your head is full and empty at the same time like there’s so much that it feels like there’s nothing at all and you’re tired now, tired of walking in these damn snow boots with the huge soles every day, just tired
- that weird nice way you feel around old friends
- light orange and light blue
- clean sheets
- the promise of something new
James Nares - I Can Tell, 2010, iridescent pigment and wax on linen, 94” x 67 1/4” |
Ringed ruby nails using Tom Ford and a Nubar gold flitter striping polish shining bright for New Year’s Eve on vogue.com
I’ll kiss myself at midnight
And I’ll hold myself
In my own arms
I’ll take care of myself,
Like I have all year.
and it comes out as an apology.
I’m sorry. You want it to be bolder, bigger, less pathetic.
‘Love’ has become a fighting word for us.
You argue that you love me more. I don’t object.
I turn over in bed, sob into the pillow, pity myself.
I mumble it back to you because you
like the way it sounds coming out of my mouth.
We’ve turned caring for each other into a duty dance
that’s cheapened ‘love.’
It has become another way of apologizing
as you roll your eyes and say, ‘Sorry, I forgot to buy milk’,
a habit with every evening’s, ‘Night, love you too’,
a promise we keep breaking:
‘Of course I won’t, I love you’,
It hits me that we no longer know what it means
when you slap me across the face and instantly,
I tell you I love you. I can’t help it.
I have spent months associating it with this much pain.
My insides are bullet-holed basins where the past goes to die.
I feel death when you stand close.
Stay away from me.
I love you. Lora Mathis, “We Need a New Word for ‘Love,’ It’s Overused” (via oofpoetry)