She was free in her wildness. She was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city.Roman Payne, The Wanderess (via floranymph)
I read a page of you and it was like one of those novels I wanted to put down but hoped it would have a better ending or some redeeming quality.
Maybe I was wishing your character would develop into some sort of hero,
But it’s really the villains that hold my attention.
People tell me not to read into it,
When in reality I’ve never really read much at all.
I pressed my face against the glass like a child trying to get inside, thinking it was meant as protection. I never even thought you might like it — being a spectacle without ever being touched.
Quivering, shivering and falling
Through the black hole of your love,
And it’s relieving in a sense because now I know how,
But it’s like throwing an addict into a room of drugs
And telling her to resist the hit.
Cursing me for my nicotine habit,
But fuck cigarettes
They burn as fast as our memories
Pack after pack, line after line
Never made me feel the way
Like when I’m exposed to you
All systems in fight or flight
Chemicals pumping in my brain
Preparing the threshold of
How much I can withstand of you
Blunt after blunt, joints next to joints,
Like our knees, and wrists, and knuckles
But weed burns more slowly than tobacco,
Than the fields I want to set fire to
The perfect metaphor for post destruction
Altering all sense of time.
By now I should be used to putting out your flames,
But I started the fire in the jungle,
So that I would never have to see another vine and be reminded of the ways our lit up bodies would intertwine.