lovephysics

take my hand. take it and throw it to your fan-fucking-tastical metaphorical sharks. build walls, burn bridges, act cliche like you always do. make sure your building has no elevator, and no stairs for me to climb.      tell her she is beautiful and      kiss her-no, not quite yet.      forget about her for      eight weeks and      make girls cry. hey, you suck. i guess i do too, if we are so similar. if we are really a match.              she handles things, dirty and overpriced.              she handles things imperfect and pays for              them with other people's money. she likes              things that

postman knocks. letter for liz. nobody is home to find it. nobody is home to say liz does not live here anymore. sorry, mister postman. girl, to postman: why are you always here, don't you know? love, friend. postman keeps coming back. girl is intrigued.

we can run away. i bet you don't even understand. i do not believe in love, but i might be in it. you make me believe, because, hey! i love your smile, your warmth, so why can't i love you, too? i would die for that smile. we can hold hands and run. just run away to a place where we can be friends and pretend lovers and kings on thrones made of lillies, poinsettias, and death. we can rule jungles as if they were cities. we can turn cities into forests. but none of this will matter, because, hey! if i love parts of you then maybe i can just love you, too. we can be together and we can be in love or in something and it can be fant

'okay, let`s wish together.' is what he said to her, and she told him yes and they danced and sang and ran on the borderline of love because they are teenagers and that is what teenagers do. she will grab his hand and they will kiss and it will be magic. so magic that she will have a highhigh selfissteam and he will forget that she is breaking in his hands and they will say that their happiness is for forever and eternity even though she knows that forever and eternity is really only until next friday, because she is not a hold onto kind of girl and he is not a holding on kind of boy. even though he thinks that forever and e

addiction. a-d-d-i-c-t-i-o-n. she scribbles the word into her left hand, ties it to a heartstring and flyflyflies it like a kite. her eyes are a powdery-blue tear stained mess. she can`t take more steps. quiet words crawl up to her and enter her skin through her toes, she is a mess. her routine is simple. broken, fixed, broken, fixed. lose more pieces of yourself. break again. be fixed by pretty words that promise you no more hurting and you`re okay, and i love you and am not going to lose you. "stop." she can`t. she is pushpushed and keeps up her running. the words dry her mouth, and her fingertips are tired and she fe

she walks down a desolate path, littered with things, dirty and destroyed and used. her eyes kiss the pavement as she strides with confidence and contradictions. behind glass windows, shadows dance, and seem to call to her, but she only walks faster, as if in fear. the streets seem abandoned, really, and she seems to half-enjoy that. she does not appear to know where to go, or more possibly, she is inspecting the fine detail in her sight`s man-made lover, ignoring cries to turn towards glass and see what she was not invited to join. of course, she is only human, and the glass creaks in anticipation, and sha

the unblossomed clouds began to weep that morning, and the raindrops did not spell out your name. she shimmied, tiptoed, catwalked around puddles of unused- never usable words and letters, enough to fill a traincar. an entire skyway, tracks of verses litter her mind and crawl out of her eyes, but you tell her she is just okay, there is nothing wrong. she purges herself of asthmatic secrets, supposedly only for two. her shoes, tap-tap-tapping an essay into the granite slab she stands on, her rough, teenage-heartstrung lies. listen. close. breathe. flowers did not bloom in her footsteps that day, and they were not nurture