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fairestcharming:

It’s not easy being in charge, is it? It’s hard running things.





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home now (you just don’t realize)

here’s what I remember, as I remember it:
poetry caught in the jaws of my locker, fluttering in the warm breeze of the heating vent.
worn leather and the smell of gasoline in a swirl of white, snowflakes as big as ‘eat me’ cakes, urging me to grow up.
your fingers at the end of my ponytail, twirling. twisting.

here’s what I remember: his hands are rough.
I’m pressed thin against the sheets, his hot breath at my ear doing nothing to iron out the creases being created.
it hurts, and it’s over.

I’m living out the lives of all the people before me,
there but for the grace of God, go I whispered as my back is turned.
it tastes like betrayal.

here’s what I remember, as I remember it:
you, on your knee, living out the lives of all the people before you.
you, paying for the sins of our fathers.
you, a body of water loving a girl who never learned to swim.
I save you the only way I know how.

here’s what I remember: his face is smiling.
but I’m pressed too thin, so my lighter is hot against the alcohol-soaked socket before the plate is screwed carefully into place.
it burns, and it’s over.

here’s what I remember, exactly as it happened:
your eyes, opening green against the blue of the sky as you break the surface.
the curve of your lips as you take that first deep breath, water droplets dancing along your lashes.
they sparkle like broken year-old promises, their shards slicing open our hands as we rebuild what has been damaged,
our blood intermingling as we are finally broken enough to want to heal.



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I’m the end of a Hitchcock movie: a little dark and a lot confusing
— Matt Nathanson, Mission Bells


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Yo ho, yo ho. A pirate’s life for me.



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wolfwrecked:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;(I think I made you up inside my head.)



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Just Repeating

You and I know all the same people differently,
Something, perhaps, to be expected of two revisionist historians.
You remember the past as an uncontained wildfire sparked long before your birth,
Your childhood spent picking through the charcoal and ashes,
Never finding anything worth keeping.
I remember being poured out and spread through it like so much water,
Dissolving as I went, until all the lines were blurred.
The truth, according to legend, is that you were born running-
From or towards the sound of sirens no one could ever tell-
And I was born eroding and creating in equal measure.
Future generations will remember us as two sides of the same coin,
And like coins, we are careful to show only one face at a time.
I have always been able to call your bluff,
But neither of us has ever been more accurate
Than when I told you I was easy to please,
And you politely disagreed.



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Belladonna

The floorboards moan under slippered feet.
I am a dress wearing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
(If they are blank, at least they don’t lay blame).
All the tears I’ve shed have been upon my shoulder,
And my arms wrap me tight in an embrace.
The shadows flickering upon the wall and the faded cut-out figures which cast them-
I’ve been both.
(They are not me).
Only the sun can burn and peel away, reveal what lies beneath.
When I am burned and peeled away, I am soft and warm and pink.
I am what you’ve always wanted to see.
As a child, you were afraid of the monsters under your bed,
But now you unwittingly invite them between the sheets.
I have cut my teeth upon your nightmares.
I have learned to drink water and blood alike.
When I am unseen, I am watching.
When I am still, I am waiting.
And when my lips part like the petals of a rose in bloom,
You will finally see my fangs.
They say poison is a woman’s weapon- it sets in slowly, silently; it is overlooked.
Here’s what they don’t tell you: it kills you all the same.



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lere8:

Justified - Restitution Season Finale



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itsjustified:


“We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.”
— W. Somerset Maugham, The Summing Up

itsjustified:

“We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.”

— W. Somerset Maugham, The Summing Up



© T H E M E