Speakin on My Behalf

Ask me anythingPoetryNext pageArchive

"Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and I’ll kiss you for it."

- Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment (via sposobna)

(Source: i-am-evolution, via r-ybanez)

Mostar, Bosnia, September 1992. A Bosnian soldier plays the piano in the destroyed music school.Photo by Teun Voeten.

"Eyes. Those damn eyes
fucked me

- Charles Bukowski, The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses. (via crowmantic)

(via soulswalkalone)

"I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o’clock in the morning."

- Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (via introspectivepoet)

(Source: goodreads.com, via soulswalkalone)

"A serious girl, when she finds someone who calms her spirit and quiets her busy thoughts, will love you so fiercely, it will defy even her own logic and reasoning."

- (via floranymph)

(Source: namelessin314, via myforeverhome)


Rustled & brushed, I’m envious ofall the things you say without words:give it a hue & it is done: inventing
colors in my brain, splashingsynapses with a silent hum, thrummedinaudible in the moment. Here is
where we meet in dreams: grantingpermission to strum hair like harpstrings strung from such a small &
quiet Fräulein—my feline, reflexesnimble as stroking a face to pet itof grace, warming it bright in a dimly
lit room, how you’ve kept the sunshining in such a dark corner ofthe labyrinth. Your touch is absinth,
so I’ve imagined wildly with whimsy—disease & salve ceasing but salvagingas if your hand dips through, my body
the permeable membrane, allowingnutrients for nourishment. Whetherconsidering nature vs. nurture, I desire
both of us to be gardeners, tending toanother for comforts. Nights like thisI wouldn’t mind being mother bird &
you a feathered babe, preeningunderneath an open wing as I singa lullaby. Oh my. Now looking up,
there’s no moon tonight, but I rememberyou’ve slid down the dark, riddena ride into bed where a space settles
for a vacancy. Safeguarding a secretespecially for me, you curl & twirl, turn& churn to rest, perhaps too comfy
for repose on my chest—now a deepsleep creeps on steepily, nearingnigh into night, blackest hoürs drenched
in melancholia. This hurts, imaginingwhat could be, knowing things may notend up the way I imagine them, but
listen: I’m a scientist up for anyexperiment. Coauthor a biographywith me, sweet love bird. I offer
an exchange of carnal hold & impossiblesoul. Swoon, sweep, roll into melike the equal force you are, like
the indestructible wall I fortify into, untilthere’s nothing, which I see no end toyou. So this restlessness ensues, as
bottomless as coffee. To suffer ispassion. Let’s make it a fashion, clashingagainst another & sheathing into one.

Lovers Man and Woman, 1914Egon Schiele, Austrian painter & sketcher(b. 1890—d. 1917)Oil on canvas


i got toes but I’m not a toaster
I got bones but I’m not a boner

^^^ LOL



i would live in this

☮nature, vintage, hippie blog☮ following back similar

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"She had a habit of walking around in white cotton panties and writing poetry on the back of crumpled envelopes."


Michael Faudet 

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