— Oscar Wilde (via psych-facts)
Caroline. Mumbles. Spark of light deep down in the ground. Full of fire, subject to change. (1993, she, her)
poetry • photography • music • art
— Jean Cocteau, Le Testament d’Orphée (1960)
At night the poem is on fire in my bedroom, but when I wake in the morning it has left, its car gone, its backpack gone, all traces it was ever there, gone. Maybe it will return with breakfast, I say. I’ll keep the door unlocked just in case.As the sun sets I think to make space on the countertop for coffee. For bagels. For the poem.
— Good Ghost Bill, “Aquarium” (via serialdoubter)
I will put on my least flammable negligee
and I will find you.
I will crawl to you across this curdling parking lot of a city,
lick your body new again like my tongue
is God’s hand trying to erase and recreate the earth.
For 6 days straight, we will be
what makes the sidewalk blister.
Day 1: in the beginning,
I will find you, pull you into me.
Day 2: we will make the earth
and the sky jealous.
Day 3: I want you to fuck me
bent over a crumpled taxi.
4: in the graveyard of a strip mall.
5: on the steps of the capital,
in every store, on every mattress that isn’t on fire.
This world is a melting candle
we’re only using for foreplay.
When the apocalypse does come,
I will rebuild our city with my tongue.
I will suck this world’s ashes from your fingers.
I will refuse to let the fires of this hell
be the only thing that makes us sweat.
When the apocalypse comes,
so will we.
— Sierra DeMulder, Apocalypse (via unexpectedstory)
— DERRICK C. BROWN, “How to Leave the Ozarks” (via hollowtowers)
Take off all of your clothes, alone and in the bathroom. Stare at your nipples. Call yourself “Beautiful” and see what happens. Touch your thatch of pubic hair, your stretch marks, and your round belly. Call yourself “Ugly” and watch what happens. Pretend you’re on…
— Hazrat Inayat Khan (via cosmofilius)