burntorangesweater - Tumblr blog

[burntorangesweater]

sanguine

blood and buoyancy.

[burntorangesweater]

thinking about an empty page and feeling something

i cant remember the smell, the touch, the idea is even without sight. ask me to describe my mother.

.

[burntorangesweater]

she misses her bright eyed baby girl.

I dont need you to tell me you love me still momma,

the scars are kind enough to itch no matter the distance.

[burntorangesweater]

sometimes,

it would be nicer to sleep on the floor.

maybe i wouldn’t feel so tired anymore,

listening to you breathe through the mattress above.

[burntorangesweater]

so it’s true. i have never been born before.

my first life.

if I had lived past lives I may have come to understand why we are beings of infinite understanding who chose to turn from the pain of others and smother their very souls. How can one suffer so much their very nerves slither out and away and leave a hollow behind.

But I have only lived as her, as the me who must forever see through empty eyes the colors that we have only imagined.

I would not chose to live again.

[burntorangesweater]

ineffable

[burntorangesweater]

the hand that holds, pulls, rolls you over to face them.

the shadow of a bulb, where the light stops just before the glass.

breakable.

[burntorangesweater]

a quilt is only a quilt

when the seams are tight and the fabric is taut.

unraveled,

it is just a pile of slowly fading fabric, a forgotten reminder, a combined idiosyncrasy of all the pieces but none of the parts.

who are you to tell me i am the lone patch? the tear of the corner, the loose thread that peels like a scab and bleeds you dry. the pattern that does not entice.

my colors are all wrong, both garish and underwhelming, mismatched: disregard me as scraps upon the ground.

I will slide beneath the floorboards and listen in perfect silence to your creaking, breathing, living above.

let those who wish to sleep, to sleep:

a quilt is no warmer than the open arms of death.

[burntorangesweater]

and there she is, not as I remember, but as the only way I can hold her close.

the little yellow bag

the unseen gift

tagged with the hand of a grieving husband. my name on her name: does it have to hurt forever?

[burntorangesweater]

a fish

at the bottom of the sink.

it's scales are stuck to the dry metal. if only someone would turn on the tap,

rolling rolling eyes in

slowly sinking sockets.

the peel of the flail, an effervescent pain, writhing in a euphoric basin of cold cold steel and air.

do you understand the savior of the drain? the love of the tap? does the knife not frighten you, though countertops away?

a precipice torn between dying or dying.

& still,

it is only a fish.

[burntorangesweater]

I’ll starve if that’s what it takes to be loved.

Clean every mess, fix every problem, smile all through the day and sleep on a bed of knives if only you’d touch your lips to my thigh.

[burntorangesweater]

I’ll waste forever if I have to be so small you’ll see me again.

I smile and you close your eyes and sleep, as if I am a stone cold beside you. Unmoving.

[burntorangesweater]

Always the lonely one.

Reach out to empty pillows in my mind. A room that echoes with the sounds of a distant love.

There is no space for me in you anymore, I ache for you.

[burntorangesweater]

I miss you.

[burntorangesweater]

I am both sleeping and waking. I am the glass at the end of the world. I am the reflection of all the others around me.

I am the mold on the pipes and the cracks on the ceiling. I am the flower whose stem was trimmed too short, And now I wilt at the bottom of the vase, underneath the taller ones.

They turn my side to the corner of the wall, And I watch with my single eye, all the patterns left behind by the flies and the dust.

I am both alive and dead. I am the sheen of sweat above your lip. I am the collection of your shared miseries that you thought I could carry.

I am the shallow grave in your heart’s backyard. I am the flow of blood that slithers it’s way around your veins. And when I stop breathing, promise you won’t hold your breath like I do mine.

[burntorangesweater]

When I was a child,

I was endless, I was beautiful, I was nothing and everything, warm to my core with the energy of the universe. I was a faerie in the endless twilight that makes up the realm below the crust of the Earth.

I lost the rest of the plot, the dream is a fading realization of my younger self. But one scene exists as a remnant reminder of the endless possibility that is me. The possibility that somehow got lost along the way.

[burntorangesweater]

I am euphoric. I wonder quite possibly if someone who feels so much could ever die in any way. I will live forever.