Everything feels far away except for my best friend

"

It’s the part of the story after the girl disappears,
and I know she’s already dead,

but I keep watching
until her friends find her in the boathouse
her limp body dropped over the edge of the dock, bare-

chested and blanched, her hysterical
boyfriend heaving her up and holding her close,

corpse-wet hair
clinging to the sweat of his neck. This is how I miss you:

I am the dead girl’s hand
slipping down her waist and smacking palm up
into the water.

I am ashamed of our distance,

the six hundred miles between our bodies
and how you sob when you tell me that since I’ve gone
what remains is the space where you once grew
around me, the same way a tree absorbs ruin

and the hollow of constructed frames.

On the screen, the boyfriend is now victim,
tearing through woods, clipping every branch
while the killer walks coolly behind him
knowing he will fall eventually.

I have never sacrificed

a virgin with the knives I keep in my kitchen.
There is no wolfs bane or garlic beside my bed.
I sleep unprotected.

But because I know endings, I will never make love to you
in the crypt of an abandoned castle
or parked in the woods with your back pressed against the dash

of a jet black El Camino as the hook hand scrapes closer
and closer to the door handle.
I know about the tissue of the heart,

the persistent pull of muscle and bone,
and the beauty of blonde hair

against the shoulder of night. Because of the Wolf Man
and Frankenstein I understand heartbreak,
how we cannot escape the inevitable
full moon or torchlight, and the way my stomach moves
when you ask me what I am thinking


and I am thinking about someone else.

"

What I Have Started to Understand About Love

 Because I Watch Horror Movies; BY KEITH KOPKA

(via allmymetaphors)

"The important parts exist in the silences between the words."
Margaret Atwood, from Cat’s Eye (via violentwavesofemotion)

gretas-notebook:

Fall, junior year. Science fiction, we press our sweaty backs together on the bus to practice. I am tearing my lip up thinking above the noise. I remember this all from last year, from the year before that, but everything feels vulnerable and new. Everything has come to an end. Everything is being born.

Fall, junior year in my backyard, a pile of warm bodies I am crying and the tears run down my face and into my hair but only for a minute. We are safe here. Fall, junior year he is upset, she’s my best friend, he tells me. I don’t remember the context but I remember his voice, I think we’re all terrified of something and I think we’re all on the verge of finding it.

Summer, a girl in the backseat across from me. A car out past midnight. She sat staring out the window with her knees close to her chest and I knew she was far away, now I know why. She lit the bowl while I inhaled and I remembered the closeness. Science fiction, junior year, high and unholy. An iphone full of pictures. Drunk in the backyard. I don’t want to be afraid of myself. I remember the closeness and I want it back.

awwww-cute:

This has to be one of the cutest things ever

awwww-cute:

This has to be one of the cutest things ever

A message from Anonymous
would you give a blowjob for weed?

if u said ‘no homo’ in your question then i would have considered it but you are asking a completely ridiculous question!! i cant believe this website

manuhamu:

わりと気にいっています。

000110111:

Jenny Holzer, Living Series

000110111:

Jenny Holzer, Living Series

"I care so much I’m sick."
Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (via larmoyante)
sexuallyavocado:

with a long reach

sexuallyavocado:

with a long reach

Via
Canon EOS 5D Mark III
nikutai:

Sayaka Yoshino + Kishin Shinoyama
少女の欲望
- 篠山 紀信 Shinoyama Kishin

nikutai:

Sayaka Yoshino + Kishin Shinoyama

少女の欲望

- 篠山 紀信 Shinoyama Kishin

Illustrations, 2014 | by  Michael Howard
heavenhillgirl:

Juno (2007)

heavenhillgirl:

Juno (2007)

nosdrinker:

Free Him

nosdrinker:

Free Him

adhemarpo:

He Jiaying, peintre chinois contemporain