By Joshua Espinoza (via doubtsbestally)
(via mombruh)
Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto.
Reena B. | Twelve months and how they lived inside my body. (via darlingjustbehuman)
(via bindthiswanderingheart)
Lonely is January; he is never quite there until he leaves. He is hanging limbo over your head and begging you not to let him fall. He is tying ropes to your fingers and waiting for you to move, to drop him into you. He is never quite there until he leaves, until he cuts your fingers off and slips down your walls.
Longing is February; she is dipping herself into open fire and waiting for her eyes to light up. She is spitting stardust down your throat and telling you love tastes like sores and stomach acid. She wraps chains around your ankles and drags you after her, waits for you to run at her. You never do.
Angry is March; he bruises you while trying to love you. He doesn’t know much about self love and he takes that out on you. He turns you stringed-puppet and makes you run for him, drags you around to take his falls. He doesn’t leave until you are skin and bones, he doesn’t leave until he takes too much of you to ever feel whole again.
Shy is April; she smiles from across the room and never meets your eye. Sometimes you see her in improbable places, hiding in someone else’s eyes. She is soft and timid and she loves you this way. She is making space in her own skin for you, but you leave before you get a chance to love her back. She hangs around you like a ghost now.
Seduction is May; she is dancing around you in a little black dress and daring you to touch her. You almost do. She is rose thighs and a waist that grows only thorns. She is spring flowers threatening to turn summer weeds. You hold her but she is never really yours. She drops her leaves into your hair and convinces you that a mess is beautiful.
Lust is June; she kisses you like she’s trying to breathe right out of your lungs. She is summer sweat and high tops and she presses against you like trying to find a place under your skin. She teaches you that your hands can make fire out of human bodies, she teaches you about gunpowder blood.
Heartache is July; he tells you he loves you when he needs to hear it back. He wants you to save him but he’s holding your head under water and wondering why you stopped breathing. He tastes like forest fires and the longest day of the year. He sticks to you for months and you can’t scratch him off your skin.
Uncertainty is August; she shifts back and forth into your life like summer rain. She is open fires and waiting for you to burn yourself trying to hold her down. She meets you at a point in her life where she cannot love you, where she can only love herself. You understand this later, you understand that summer flames only take and never give anything back.
Vanity is September, he turns your eyes in looking glasses that only point to him. He stands over your head and makes you beg for him, puts you on your knees for him. You believe you are nothing in his absence and so you drown yourself in him until you forget what its like to breathe in open air.
Greedy is October; he is bones that never stop breaking. He dips his fingers into your heart and says he wants more. You crack open your spine for him and he finds a makeshift home in the debris you left behind. You carry him around inside you and he grabs onto anything that shows him love.
Regret is November; she has her head in her hands and never stops screaming. She carries her ghosts at the back of her throat and finds lips to spit them into. Everything she sees is in black and white and she teaches you this way. She teaches you that nothing ever goes forgotten. She hides you like her biggest mistake, her only wrong turn somewhere along the way.
Closure is December; she is soft and warm and holds you when you need it. She tells you she is going to leave eventually and you understand because you’ve loved her and lost her too many times to let it break you anymore. You’ve loved her and lost her until you stopped losing pieces of you every time she turned away. Her hands find their way around the back of your neck, and you let her. The next morning she packs her clothes and leaves without a sound, and you let her.