@Mp

I am a Star-Child Resident of Earth In-L♥ve with
All Random Things Considered to be Organic and Inorganic.

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Wet Sand

Letters From a Lover From Another Planet

fables-of-the-reconstruction:

Here, we listen with our tongues, mouths always
open. When his tongue searches the damp
cellar of my throat, he recalls
stories I’ve forgotten, recites the name
of every lover that’s ever kissed
the inside of my armpits. He knows
what I want and what I don’t
like about the way he reads the history
of my hair as if each strand
were a declarative sentence.
He tells me I’m too eager to please.
You must learn to take, to say “give me”
graciously. He likes what’s inside–
not soul, or metaphysical heart but the real
blood-chugging organ: its russet
muscularity; the way it blooms
bright as an anthurium beneath the white
trellis of ribs; its allegretto beat. The sweeping
of blood through ventricles is sexier
than breasts, he declares as he places his tongue
on my wrist, tells me to pay attention
to the vignettes of legs, the backsides
of knees, for each cell holds a story.
Open your mouth, he says. Leak
the letters of your name into my lungs,
the milkweed smell of your skeleton,
the bloodroot of you.

Simone Muench

“ Never fear my fire, only fear my ice. ”

—    @Mp (via emptyravine)

“ i
fling
my wants
and thoughts
of you,
like boomerangs,
thru night and day.
i
pretend im
strong enough to let go,
but, no…
i
can’t throw you away. ”

—    1000 sunz (via 1000-sunz)

(via one2we)

The Drop Off

"This blog is a
Venue of Introspection
filled with
Vacuous Versification,
DreamLand Adventures,
& Capricious Ramblings
Relating to My
Earthen,
Star-Child Existence.”

My Personal Writing Blog

“ Suddenly, all I can think about are all the things I don’t know about him. All the things I never had time to learn. I don’t know if his feet are ticklish or how long his toes are. I don’t know what nightmares he had as a child. I don’t know which stars are his favorites, what shapes he sees in the clouds. I don’t know what he is truly afraid of or what memories he holds closest.
And I don’t have enough time now, never enough time. I want to be in the moment with him, feel his body against mine and think of nothing else, but my mind explodes with grief for all that I am missing. All that I will miss. All that I have wasted. ”

—    Carrie Ryan, The Forest of Hands and Teeth #1