raised-up-to-the-moon

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Boys will be boys until men take responsibility for their actions.

Kyronne  (via wnq-writers)

[raised-up-to-the-moon]

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Let It Burn

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had control but i’m losin’ it… [x]

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I become undone from within, unhinged at the bare sight of you, when you’re open with me, nearly raw, those candid moments when you tell me things nobody else knows, when you lean close and confess stories of shame, nightmares that still haunt you, secrets, like a pitcher spilling, slowly, then suddenly, and then all at once; I, sporadically cracked earth, I absorb, I absorb, I absorb.  You remain unaware even as you seep into me, into every crevice, until I am uncomfortable with how connected I actually feel to you, for once, at all. Your scent lingers, so intoxicating the room is spinning and I lose my sense of smell. The daisies on the dining room table look like they're dying; your mother, she doesn’t know you and your thing for dandelions. Your voice, husky with fatigue from the long day, unfurls itself and embraces my eardrum and I hear nothing but the eerie hum of the echoes of your murmurs, the noise of what you say is nearly inaudible and almost deafening. I hold your secrets inside me. I share stories of nights. There were frightening nights in my own life, I tell you, and nights I pulled at the roots of my hair while nearly choking on quiet cries so my sisters and brother and father and mother wouldn’t hear me, wondering if I’d ever appreciate the light of day again. That sense of limb-tingling, unnerving curiosity and wonder, the kind that reminds you there is adventure in this life to be sought, like an undying love, that excitement, that hope, the whisper of the unknown that leaves you filled to the brim with anticipation at the exhilaration that awaits you and the endless possibilities, I haven’t felt that way in a long while. I haven’t felt in a long while. There are nights, still, that I think of you and only you, with your long torso and thin wrists polluted with bluish-green, bulging veins, and I ache; you, with your sharp chin and your sandy blonde hair, your intelligence and the abnormality of the speed at which you acquire wisdom, and the way you smile and the things you say when we actually speak and I hate you, I hate you so much for the way you get inside me, how you’re still inside me, after all these years, how I love you, even writhing in the pain of this unsound existence, how it gets in my bones and leaves me unbalanced, how you don’t even try, you never have to try but it oozes out of you and spreads in through my skin no matter the defense I have waiting and it burns me, my god, it burns me.

Kayla Kathawa // I Don’t Write Love Poems (via ninakathawa)

Absolutely Brilliant

(via lustoftheskin)

[raised-up-to-the-moon]

All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.

André Breton, Mad Love (via wordsnquotes)

[raised-up-to-the-moon]

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I’ve been breaking all ten fingers for you, and you wouldn’t even lift one up for me…