i wish people still wrote letters,

i wish we still penned down our thoughts,
so that your tear stains could guide me to your heart
and the coffee or wine stains to those sleepless nights

so that the scent of the sheet could tell me
what perfume was your new favourite
and your lazy handwriting showed how tired you were

theres so much more of you on paper,
and theres so much of you i miss.

I don't think I understand
the concept of friends
the concept of loved ones
the face you can talk to in hard times
the place you can call home
the home which lies in a person

I don't think I understand
what it is to have a home
because whenever I find it
whenever my heart starts to heal

I always seem to run away

Look into my eyes.
You should be drowning
In the seas of compassion and love.

Look into my eyes.
You should be burning
From the intense warmth of my affection.

Look into my eyes.
You should feel overwhelmed
By the strength of my resolve.

To love you.
To protect you.
To never leave you.

"Slay the beast! Salty, sassy and saucy."

-Lindsay the only person who slays better than me

i’m sitting in class, listening to the conventions of everyday noises, straining my neck to get in touch with the balance within that vanishes so easily. the snow is melting in my hair; the subtle coldness calms me, making it easier for the fantasia to settle. the thought of him continues to rush through me, and the euphoria tastes wonderful. he rests comfortably upon the greyness of my tired soul, so close and yet so far, but i guess that’s the allure of everlasting lust.

mar 1 16

could you please
preheat the oven
to 450°F?

thanks!
now
can you please
shove me in there
and close the door tightly?

I'll probably scream
and flail
but,
ignore that

I need a fire to be lit
under my ***
since I clearly
cannot light one
by myself

Vacancies left by death
are realized in life.
We wander across worlds
over time, dismissing the old
but there are some worlds
which we do not leave behind
and its the collection of these speckles
that make us realize the symphonies
camouflaged under the monotone of mundane.
Its these speckles that intoxicate us into nostalgia
and dejavu .
and yet its that one speckle that covers our eye
a rising sun that romanticizes the sky