(My edit,not my photo)


long live the nights that could've been anything

do you know any girls that like to play tricks on dogs? do you know any dogs? do you know… me? me and all my lost causes. always waiting for the part of the magic trick where what disappeared is brought back. come back. help me clean the promises out of my ears. because i can’t hear so well anymore. because i’m caught between hell and half way home. most of the time i’m just waiting for it to get dark outside. it’s like that hotel books song. it goes something like “either way we decorate this ship it’s still sinking.” now every time someone makes a graveyard metaphor i want to show them my bedroom. i can’t remember if i read that in the bible or in one of your texts. it reminds me of the conversation we had about naming children. because. it was the only place you ever let them live. about the ghost of who you used to be running its hands over my wounds. about the things i remember most about you. the way you’d say “i love you” in the smallest voice. how your thighs would twitch underneath my hands. how you pick at things when you’re uncomfortable. everything i’m not sure what to do with anymore. it’s hard you know? opening my mouth without saying something like “wish you were here” or “since you left everything has been covered in knives.” now when anyone talks to me it’s from a distance. they have to cup their hands for me to hear them. i can only listen to music in octaves you can’t sing in.