(Source: silent-musings)
ramblings
There’s a heat in me and it’s been rising for a while now threatening to cut off my circulation cause my circuit board disconnects itself too often the wires get mixed up and my pulse falls short of steady but these hands have triggered heavy quakes in lungs deeper than any smoke could fill i want to be filled but every time i cough my insides turn outside and swallow up my feet stitching shut my lips so i’m forever curled in this ball hit with a home run bat i’ve been running home since i was told that the bases were meant for counting though i’ve never been too sure if home was a dirty plate worth diving for or just something in which i repeatedly strike myself out like i’ve never been too sure where i am in relation to the rest of me i’m always reaching finger tips out grasping for anything other than air to wrap myself in cause i’m always so cold so lately i’ve been trying to wrap myself in you to keep warm and i’ve been falling into a security blanket that too many insecurities have made fallible so now there’s no such thing as mister infallible to bless this wayward soul so help me god I know I’ve been falling but I’m not a fallen angel yet not that I’ve ever sprouted wings to lose or flown in anything other than melatonin dreams but my shoulder blades are beginning to prove their strength for holding up a body gliding against gusts of wind
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Simon & Garfunkel
“Sound of Silence”
Simon and Garfunkel|Sound of Silence
(Source: pah, via tonguesofmindlessmen)
1,302 notes / 3,419 plays
The poet wants to rejoin the poem
even after behaving terribly and can’t.
You aren’t welcome because you’re something else now.
An estranged father, a white-noise of two lovers
lost in Malibu. One nervous. One naively fearless.
One ill-equipped for the rapidly aggregating promises
made by two of the damned rowing in tandem in the dark.
At a certain point it’s beyond forgiveness
and I couldn’t positively tell you why.
In Hebrew, the word for near and inside sound nearly identical
told to a crowd at a party which one is asked to leave
for having two beyond too many, for behaving terribly.
Then back down the same fire escape, same sidewalks,
same phone buzzing into oblivion.
Like sometimes all that clots the wound
is Don’t call here drunk and late.
One blameless. One half-conscious.
The stars tripping themselves up in the dark.
I have a failing organ, you say. I want to be forgiven.
And though asking isn’t receiving, the soul has six wings
and roars. The shoreline tonight so calculated and cool.
There is not a person left worth forgiving you.
— The Poem is Not the Anatomical Heart, Kyle McCord
(via enjambing)
Repeat the Mantra “Fuck You” fives times a day… It clears the throat.
—
Osho
Ahah.
(Source: wakeupandbefree, via elige)
Our consciousness is fed with other conciousnesses. The way we make decisions, our likes and dislikes, depend on the collective way of seeing things. That’s why selecting the people you are around is very important.
— Thich Nhat Hanh
(Source: iheartloons, via elige)
