“I won’t blame you,
instead
I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.”
— Raw with love by Charles Bukowski (via thesexandcandy)
6:25 pm • 9 May 2012 • 72 notes
“The moon likes secrets. And secret things. She lets mysteries bleed into her shadows and leaves us to ask whether they originated from otherworlds, or from our own imaginations.”
— Charles de Lint (via blood—countess)
(Source: rabbitinthemoon, via blood-countess)
10:03 pm • 28 March 2012 • 4,647 notes
“
age is no crime
but the shame
of a deliberately
wasted
life
among so many
deliberately
wasted
lives
is.
”
— Charles Bukowski, Be Kind (via je-ne-sais-qu0i)
11:47 am • 25 March 2012 • 24 notes
“the writing of some
men
is like a vast bridge
that carries you
over
the many things
that claw and tear.”
— the wine of forever by Charles Bukowski (via cpassikoff)
2:35 am • 15 March 2012 • 8 notes
“Our eyelashes brushed like they would weave together by themselves, turning us into one wild thing. I say, “I think I missed you before I met you even.”
— Francesca Lia Block (via if-you-love-me)
2:33 am • 15 March 2012 • 36 notes
“My mother says that pain is hidden in everyone you see. She says try to imagine it like big bunches of flowers that everyone is carrying around with them. Think of your pain like a big bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one.”
— Francesca Lia Block (via thechocolatebrigade)
2:33 am • 15 March 2012 • 85 notes
“The Truth is in the prolouge.
Death to the romantic fool,
the expert in solitary confinement.”
— Pablo Neruda, The Poetry of Pablo Neruda (via 35bit)
(via canadianjunkies-deactivated2012)
2:32 am • 15 March 2012 • 13 notes
“
I crave your moth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your shiny like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
”
— Pablo Neruda (via fishinglures)
2:32 am • 15 March 2012 • 15 notes
“My grandmother kisses
as if bombs are bursting in the backyard,
where mint and jasmine lace their perfumes
through the kitchen window,
as if somewhere, a body is falling apart
and flames are making their way back
through the vessels in a young boy’s thigh,
as if to walk out the door your torso
would dance with exit wounds.”
— Ocean Vuong (via forestmilk)
5:31 pm • 28 February 2012 • 79 notes
“My love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.”
— Pablo Neruda, If You Forget Me (via tangible-hope)
(via )
4:44 am • 17 February 2012 • 1 note
