finalfantasy-lover

God got busted for graffiti, spray can in one hand, red aerosol paint in the palm of the other, bleeding like stigmata.

Found myself in your gentle touch.

i am not a goddess nor do i believe i wish to be one. i think i'd rather be a half-forgotten fairy tale or a girl with opium eyes and a glass tongue; an angel who doesn't believe in god, an angel who kisses demons with lips that whisper poetry as artificial as the mannequins in a department store. i want wings: appendages stitched from dying butterflies and the feathers you can find on the ground - dirty, ripped, but still beautiful. and i would soar higher and higher until i couldn't breathe and buy up all the stars. if i am being honest, i fall in love with dragon girls and wolf boys much like the way a candle melts; fast, hot,

you are only human. There is no such thing as stardust floating in your veins or gloomy poetry stitched right into your heart. Your blood is made of iron - unbreakable, unbending and unmatched by any other stronghold, for you are a fortress that they will never invade. Stand up, darling; wipe those tears away and know that you are the only one who can reinforce these walls.

I want to kiss every aching wound you have, bandage your heart every time it bleeds, and patch up your mind over and over because not a single tear deserves to fall from your brandy-drenched eyes; This dripping heart of mine can only feel, and the healing honey words it flames get caught in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth, so I only have these passionate guttural cries to tell you that I care all too much. In order to fix you up again, I would need to tear myself to tatters and trade all of my working parts for your leftover, fading pieces but I just haven’t figured out how.

(I wonder if parentheses ever see all the letters caught in between them and feel that distance as though it is tangible; if they ever crave to be close enough together so they could intertwine until their inkscratches collide to incoherence; if you’ve ever noticed how your right hand ellipses and curves just like a parenthesis, and how my left hand is its opposite.)

One day, when you’re five years old and made out of fractured sunlight and mirror shards, you sit down on the bench of the MAX train. You’re dressed in your winter coat and boots that are too big and one of your parents has pulled your hat too close over your ears. You’re sitting next to your mother, and on the other side is a man that smells like loneliness, something that you’ll later know as cigarettes and alcohol and homelessness. He’s crying quietly into the top of his jacket and you’re scared to look because you’ve never seen an adult cry. The train ride goes on for five minutes, which is a lo

"Hi, I'm-" "I know who you are." "You do?" "You're the guy who thinks he's invisible." "I have a name-" "It isn't important. Because you really don't think it's important." "All right. Since we've started out this way, let me just tell you, I know you too." "Yeah?" "You're the girl who is broken." "I am not broken." "You're the girl whose eyes close every night and open the next morning, only to find you have never slept at all." "I sleep well. Besides-" "You're the girl who dreams of a happy ending even though she has seen seventeen...no, eighteen unhappy ones in her eighteen years." "Happy endings are over rated. And you're-"

never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother. he will be too gentle with your lips, too sincere when he whispers blessings into your ears pleading that he doesn't deserve you. his tongue will not slither between your teeth. instead, the heat of his mouth will melt your scar tissue until there is no trace of your travels. never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother. he knows patience. you will try to convince him that it is one of the many virtues you don't yet possess, but he will dig through the flesh in your ribcage until he finds it lodged beneath everything you're too scared to confess. he will teach you forg