acollectionofbrokenthings

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

Close isn’t close enough. I want to braid my nerves into yours. I want to dissolve myself into your blood so that I might flow through your veins. I want to be so into you that the world cannot distinguish my heartbeats from yours.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

when you left i followed...shadows clinging to your echo in empty rooms i swore i could see your footsteps pressed into the floor ...like promises you were never mine but still you lingered a whisp that sharpened my senses once you had lived inside my veins now... you forgot to take your ghost with you

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

There is a fine line between love and cannibalism; that perpetual urge to consume the ones you love - or to offer yourselves up for consumption. Why else is love described as all-consuming? Because that is what it is, at its core; love is consumption. It occurs unconsciously, when you are folding in on yourself, rearranging your bones and organs, to make yourself small enough to fit inside someone's mouth. Eat me, you'll beg.

Devour me whole.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

I need devotion. I need an altar built in my name, inspired by Venus to prove your love to me idk.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

the blood on my teeth begins to feel like a poem, like religion, like the way you look at me

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

His lips said thank you

over and over again

upon the body

I'd been apologising my whole life for

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i am woven into her veins. our bond was forged in seawater and ash. tell me, when you kissed her pretty mouth, did you taste my power too?

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i want you to want me as i want you.

desperately.

i want to make you shiver from my touch. i want to hear your voice, breathless and shaky.

oh, i want you to say my name like a prayer.

full of devotion

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

words are measured by the forkful/ it’s days behind closed doors/ it’s wide eyed nights with what-ifs lying naked next to me/ it’s not all of me/ it seems like/ a lot of me/ it’s a lot// it feels like/ me/ (but it’s not)

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i dig my fingers into my own flesh trying to dismantle and repair the creation i call myself

will i ever be fixed? am i too far gone?

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i’ve hoarded your name in my mouth for months

my throat a beehive pitched in the river

look!

look how long this love can hold its breath!!

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

my bones whimper at the thought of what could have been.

what could have been if i was not born in a grave?

sometimes i wish to grow mold like bad meat, at least some sign of life existing through me.

the husk of my being is turning to dust.

i fear there is no growing a second skin anymore.

it is shameful that i will be seen for what i am.

i am pieces.

i am pieces and in pieces i shall remain.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i may think of you softly from time to time.. but i’ll cut off my hand before i ever reach for you again

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

at least being an instrument means being held

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

the cage is open.

you can walk out anytime you want.

why are you still in there?

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

the wolf loved the deer

it ripped the deer’s throat out, and then licked the dying deer with the most passionate affection

i thought of you and me.