We-watch-the-sky-bleeding - Letterspill - Tumblr Blog

You told me I would never live to touch the sky.

Look at me now,

brushing my fingers against the clouds

and laughing

with the rest of my winged kin.

I am bleeding seconds, vomiting

minutes into

the porcelain bowl of a toilet.

It smells like memories here

and loss.

My hands are messy, covered in residue

from every world I

failed to touch.

I wish I could

unwrap my skin like ribbon

from my bones.

I think I’d feel

less claustrophobic.

Could someone please

come over here

and press their soft palms against my brain

until all is silence?

These barbs are pressing against my skin,

cursed little

pinpricks of bright red pain.

Little do you know:

to hold me

is not the same as knowing me.

You who have

stubbornly refused

to show me

your soft underbelly—

why should you have the right to demand mine?

@zombiesun

could I request a free poem and if so do u need any thing from me or is it fully organic from u . thank you

Absolutely! I just write em and post em myself with you tagged in the post. The only thing I need from you is to know whether there's anything specific you would like it to be about.

I remember what it felt like

to be

alive.

Before the

cold settled in the air

thickly, packed so tight against the pain

I could no longer breathe.

I remember

what it felt like to

be happy.

I've spent all these years of my life trying to be okay with the fact that humans fade in and out of each other's lives. No matter how I think about it, I can't make it sound romantic or poetic. To those who have already passed through my life and to those who eventually will: I love you, I miss you. The back door will always be unlocked if you ever feel like coming home.

God,

I wish I could have loved you—

thank god I didn’t.

In another

world

you and I fell asleep on that couch together,

sharing the taste of cherry vodka.

And I think for once

I would not have tried to fix everything.

I think I would have let you make me beautiful,

feral,

and a thousand times worse.

I am addicted

to the memories

I have of you.

I get regularly drunk

on the fading scent of what used to be.

I move day by day,

s l o w l y,

savoring the taste of

life on my tongue

even as

I strain toward the future I am

impatient to have with you.

I feel your absence.

The taste of

solitude

is bitter, or maybe sickly sweet with

all the memories of you that rush

to fill it.

Okay but I just want to say that this was a problem with Walmart a while back (at least I think it was Walmart) and if I remember correctly they wound up being SUED, because the judge ruled it was unrealistic for people buying groceries on a budget to pay attention enough to the difference between a listed price and the price displayed by a checkout machine. I doubt Kroger will keep it around for long without a similar situation happening, but if they do TAKE A PICTURE OF THE PRICE TAG AND TELL THE ATTENDANTS IF THERE IS A DIFFERENCE IF YOU ARGUE ENOUGH AND SHOW THEM THE PICTURE ODDS ARE THEY MAY RESET IT FOR YOU. This may not work all the time, but let’s be real—what grocery store worker is going to be invested enough in their workplace to fight you? None of them. And if they give you shit and you have the time, complain to the manager about the unreasonable pricing. Be a Karen about it, use your rage for the greater good and tell them you plan to shop elsewhere from now on. If you give them enough grief you will tire them out eventually.

TLDR: take pics of prices before checking out and speak up to staff about discrepancies, don’t be afraid to be a Karen about it.

I’m flirting with Death again,

a pretty little

bouquet of

blood-speckled knives in hand as I walk up the stairs to her door

She smiles at me,

moves to

invite me inside,

but then in an instant she is cold, skeletal, and unwelcoming.

“You cheated on me again,”

she says, “I can smell

the scent of Hope, lingering on your skin.”

We made that picture together—

the three of us.

Chosen media: crayon,

we did our best to

replicate Van Gogh,

to create the swirls and beauty of The Starry Night.

I look at my wall of beautiful tapestries

and this is my favorite,

cradling memories within the scribbles

until I need them again.

My rosebush

has been dying for a week,

leaves turning crispy and floating to the ground

like feathers from a dying bird.

I have never been good with plants.

I don’t know what

I have done wrong,

but as I watch this thing I was supposed to take care of slowly die,

I feel my soul begin to shrivel as well.

I am sorry.

I wasn’t enough.

You know

you’d think it’d be different.

Three thousand people in the same place

and same circumstance,

lost amid the tall brick buildings,

learning new routes and trails and watching

the sunsets

spill pink and orange across the sky.

Yet I have never

felt so

l o n e l y

in my whole life.

Sometimes the wide open sky—

an abundance of options, dressed in

a kaleidoscope of colors

is too much.

I prefer the stars and sun over the sky,

the trees over the forest.

Sometimes I do not want the whole world at my feet.

I merely want a small,

cosy place to live within,

walls that hide me from the great oblivion that is the outdoors,

and some simple boundaries—

edges that show me where I begin and end

and where I am meant to be.

@kring1

Throwback to the time I gave my cat all of my busking tips.

I was counting them, and she came over and seemed curious about them, and from that moment on they were hers.

-Zoë Lianne

Concept: A witch cat that’s too fat to fly

Sometimes I think

you can get along with a complete stranger

better than someone you’ve known for years.

You hear them talk and you truly listen,

lack of interaction

lending you a serene attentiveness.

You can draw a certain strength

from observing the world of a certain person,

not a word

spoken between the two of you,

and yet their mere existence

becomes

a foundation you stand on,

a walking stick to

lean on as you pass through life and

a torch to light the way through

your inner

darknesses.

@agape4angi

That t i l t i n g sensation

loss of

thought and complete

carnage and beautiful godly power

that comes with

being drunk

and

seeing the world laid out beneath your feet.

oh. i just tidied my room and found will to live alongside lost artefacts from childhood. i put up some fairy lights i took from the christmas box and decorated it with paper hearts i cut out. in the dark screen of my laptop, i see their glittering reflected and for a moment thought they were stars. i found stuffed animals from boxes under my bed and i set them up by my pillows. they're soft. and i haven't felt cuddled as i sleep in such a long time, maybe not since i was ten and crying after a nightmare in my mother's arms. (these days i can barely let her touch my shoulder) i've tidied my room and ordered my memories and that's all it took for me to feel a drive to live again.