the air in my lungs

By the time I’d coughed out a mouthful of mud and choked air back into my lungs, I had the presence of mind to wipe mud out of my eyes. I found myself twenty feet off the ground, dangling from the branches of one of the skeleton trees. My arms and legs hung loosely beneath me, and my jeans felt tight at the waist. I tried to see how I’d gotten hung up that way, but I couldn’t. I could possibly get a hand and foot on different branches, but I could barely wiggle, and I couldn’t get loose.
“You foil a Faerie Queen,” I panted to myself. “Survive your own execution. Get away from certain death. And get stuck up a freaking tree.” I struggled some more, just as uselessly. One mud-covered bot fell off and hit the ground with soggy plop. “God, I hope no one sees you like this." 
The sound of footsteps drifted out of the mist, coming closer.
I pushed the heel of my hand against my right eyebrow. Some days you just can’t win.
I folded my arms and had them sternly crossed over my chest when a tall, shrouded form emerged from the mist below. Dark robes swirled, a deep hood concealed, and a gloved hand gripped a wooden staff. 
The Gatekeeper turned his head toward me and became still for a moment. Then he reached his other gloved hand into his hood. He made a strangled, muffled sound.
"Hi,” I said. King of wit, that’s me.
—  Summer Knight: The Dresden Files
You are the air in my lungs
The last word uttered before my dreams beckon me from life
You knock against my bones
Causing them to creak, to sing as a xylophone does
I think you’re trying to say
That you’ll always find your way
My ragged breaths will guide you back when I exhale
I displace my vital organs to make room for you
Only you can fill the empty space
You make a nest amongst my ribs
And keep my chest warm
These broken bones form the diadem adorning your head
And my heart is its crown jewel
I’ve always needed thicker skin
It’s been bruised and worn paper thin
But for you I’ll let my guard down
Peel away at me like an onion
I’ll show you my ugliest layers
You stain my mood sanguine
You are the blood pulsing hot and fast in my veins
The faint color of rust, suffusing across the peaks and valleys of my flesh
The lifelines etched into my palms.

I got everything I need right here with me. I got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what’s gonna happen or, who I’m gonna meet, where I’m gonna wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people. I figure life’s a gift and I don’t intend on wasting it. You don’t know what hand you’re gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you.. to make each day count.



sometimes i want to crawl to you and hide under your skin. but when i am at the verge of making it. i remember that there’s no place for me in your body. not even between your fingers — not between the sighs that left your mouth. and it’s so unfair that you are all over me. between the blinks in my eyes. between the air leaving my lungs. so i leave — or at least i try to. because i’ve made the worst mistake. i made a home of you — a home of someone who doenst even made love to me.

tracks for when you really are tired, broken, and in love hurt. listen

          I haven’t been here long, but I’ve already seen such strange things. And that’s truly saying something. I don’t quite fit in well, do I?

Dark & Wild Series - Tease (Jimin, OC) Part 6 - “V”

Trailer | Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

(Charity’s POV)

I can’t even begin to explain how it felt.

The wind rushing through my ears, the darkness blinding me, and the water… the water filling my lungs and incapacitating me to breathe.

My free hand grasped my throat, as if trying to hold in the oxygen that remains within me while my other hand…

A strong hand remained firmly grasped on mine, unyielding to loosen nor let go. It was my only anchor to the abyss I’ve been sucked into…

The only thing keeping me sane.

And then I gasped as the water dispersed, my lungs contracting and feeling like the air was being completely sucked out of me. I coughed as I barreled into something, the side of my face landing on something hard and soft at the same time.

I breathed heavily, taking advantage of the air that was now available and within my reach. My eyes remained closed with tears threatening to come as I realized just how close to death I was.

“It’s okay.” I felt the vibration on my cheek. “You’re okay.”

The voice was deep and soothing, calming me instantly and as I felt warmth against my back, I realized that I didn’t just barrel into something…

I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of black against green. I gulped before looking up and seeing a prominent jaw.

Arms were wrapped securely around my waist, sending shivers through me and I thought of how good it felt to be in his arms; almost as if our bodies were made to hug each other.

He looked down at me slowly, sensing my stare and my eyes widened in recognition.

“V—V??” In gasped and his arms tightened around my waist slightly. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could, I was already pulling away.

“Wait, Charity—“

He reached out for me, trying to pull me in again but I refused and took a step back, fear and dread filling my chest. "You—“

"Please let me explain.” He asked, his beautiful face a mask of slight desperation, his eyes dark which was a sharp contrast to his bright blonde hair.


“You’re not…you’re not V.” I asked more than said and he took a step forward, causing me to step back. I couldn’t help seeing the way his face fell at my response.

“I am V.” He said. “I’m…” He grappled for the words. It seemed that his vocabulary has escaped him. He looked me in the eye, his gaze serious and captivating. I never really noticed it, but there was a certain gleam in them; like flecks of gold shadowing through it. “It’s me.”

“I’m dreaming.” I countered, swallowing as if the fact was too painful to bear. “It’s not really you.”

“You are dreaming.” He nodded then took a step forward. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not really me.”

I pursed my lips in a thin line, retreating every time he advanced. He was there in front of me, he looked real—looked physically real but there was a nagging feeling at the back of my head telling me that this was all imaginary.

That mere fact was enough to to drive me insane and push me to the edge of frustration and desperation.

“Why do you keep doing this?” I whispered defeatedly. V’s face remained stoic though his eyes told a different story. My heart became heavy at my words, feeling how much I meant them. V was so frustrating, always keeping me guessing. It didn’t help that I couldn’t even figure out what I felt about him, not when he was so bipolar: one moment he’s cold, the other—

Occupied by my thoughts, I didn’t notice that he was already in front of me. He was so close that I could feel the heat emanating from his body, assuring me of the reality that he was actually here. Looking up, I saw his expression change from stoic to broken—as if looking at me provoked a sense of sadness. His blonde hair covered his eyes and I resisted the urge to brush them away. V on the other hand, reached out and let his fingertips trace the side of my face, sending tingles across my skin.

“You don’t know how hard it is.” He murmured. “How hard it is to be this way.”

I stayed quiet, letting him continue; afraid that if I spoke, he might retreat once again.

“I know I left without a goodbye but—” he closed his eyes as if the memory was painful to remember. “I had to.”

“Why?” I croaked.

“I—“ thunder rolled across the sky and we snapped up, seeing bright flashes of light dancing above us.

"What’s happening?” My hands unconsciously gripped the front of his dress shirt and I felt his hands loosening on my waist. My heart thumped in panic as V looked at me with a pained expression, slowly slipping from my grasp.


"I’m sorry. Wake up.” He said, his voice echoing through the clearing followed by a loud boom.

The next thing I knew, I was swallowed by darkness.

Keep reading

I told him I didn’t tell people
I didn’t tell people because I was scared
‘Scared of what?’ he asked
And I simply shrugged
but he held my hands and looked me in the eyes
almost like a child eager for a story
so I repeated myself again, ‘I am scared’
‘Scared of what?’
‘I’m scared of frightening people.’
He smiled then and kissed my knuckles
one by one
he’d plant a kiss on each
at least that was how it felt, when his fingers glided over the letters of a keyboard that I could not see
‘You can’t scare me away’ he informed me
almost like a promise, but I’ve learnt long ago that promises
were just as empty as the air
that filled my lungs
but at least the air I breathed in contained the dust of the universe that had
made me who I am.

'I see hurricanes and lightning,
never anything in between,
I grew up at the equator
neither here nor there and
where tropical storms tore through my life
like a bamboo house on stilts
only built to be buoyant during floods
or after a tsunami.
I learnt to swim but never to fly
I could sustain myself for hours above the surface of the
sea that trapped me
but I could not leave the little prison because
they clipped my wings
and filled my bones with tar.
They made a child of the sky
one of the sea.’

'And sometimes I talk as if a God’s child
speaking in tongues that not even I
could comprehend
but I was far from holy
and was instead told I was a sinner because
I didn’t use the right pronouns
nor fell in love with the right gender, and the things
I believed was only the poison of a corrupt humanity led by the devil
and was not the light nor salt of god.
I had asked satan once if he’d have me as a child
and had gotten no reply, unlike the many
before me.
So I don’t quite know who I belong to,
if anywhere.
Constantly wondering if I could make my own god
maybe one that did not think me of inferior
like all those who had labelled themselves as
'my loved ones’
and my abusers who made themselves look like
the mercy of god
That is if the mercy of god was actually
a hundred cuts and the number thousand
I had to count to when I realise
I cannot breath
and I question whether I was real
or not.’

'I feel the weight of the world like Atlas
except I was an elastic band with too much
potential energy.
The first law of thermodynamics states
'Energy can neither be created nor destroyed,
only transformed.’
Which must be true
because it feels like all the energy I have every touched
had been transferred to me
like I was the lightning rod of the world.’

'There is something wrong with me’
I whispered to him,
as if if I spoke any louder the world might hear me
and break me all over again,
like it did so many times before.

'Good luck scaring me’
he told me, standing up just as the last
of the sun’s rays were thrown over the earth
and his shadow grew across the dying world
much like the darkness within me
that grew and fed off me;
A loving parasite of a helpless host.

'Let’s be demons together.’

—  what I told him when he asked to understand me more

Snatch me up baby. Pull me so close to you it squeezes the air out of my lungs. Grab my bodacious breasts and bite my neck… I crave you. I lust you. I love you.

Hey grandpa,

Up to day 405 without you. Decided to write a letter. Hope you get the message from wherever you are now. Grandpa, I miss you everyday. Any of these 405 days I didn’t think about you. I miss you like the air in my lung, it can go in and out, but it only will stop forever when I meet you again.

I see you in the sunset and in the sunrise, and in each piece of the world I see a little bit of you. Miss you when i go to Feira, because after every step I take I hope to find you like we used to. I remember you when I eat coconut candy, when I see meatloaf, when I smell panettone and when I watch channel Viva. I remember you every time I watch a football game, and when I hear “Botafogo” that used to be your team. I remember you when I hear something about the army, and when I see lychees. I remember you immediately when I hear André Rieu or The Phantom Of The Opera. When I think about Sundays I think about you, and when I swim in your house’s pool, I almost see you there. Oh, your house.

Unfortunately, since you’re gone, going to your house became a burden. It is painful and it gives me a extreme malaise. Actually, it is really unfair with my grandma, and I am sure you wouldn’t be happy with the few times I am visiting her. I’m not happy either, but visiting her causes a deep pain inside of my heart. It can’t be like that.

I would give a lot of things to hear news about you (please, not now. It’s night and I would be really scared) and have the chance to spend 10 minutes with you, the person you were before cancer ate you. But I am sure my life is not one of these things, and I try to comfort myself thinking that one day, for sure, we are going to meet again. When I miss you really hard, I just keep breathing.

I know you would be proud of me (and maybe you are, why not?) because of the things I have been doing and thinking, and for the person I`m becoming.

My pain is in the fact that you`re everywhere, but at the same time nowhere.

I love you. Always and forever.

You know who.

‘I wish you pay more attention to me , I wish you knew I am crying while typing this because wanting you is so painful I feel like all the air in my lungs are gone’

Confession #4156
Send your confessions to my ask here

Who would have thought writer’s block could bear a name?

Love, you are the air between my lungs and you— you are collapsing every sliver thought I am trying to ink. Whenever I try to condense my intricate thoughts into a single idea, my neurons transmits nothing but lumpish, worn out analogies and exhausted metaphors that have been salvaged a thousand different times. The only thing that spills down from my pen are flowers and stars and creases that form in your forehead when you smile and how much I would like to lose myself in the constellations your irises consists and it is abominable. This gloaming prose, this naïve-ish symbolism and juvenile poetry that cascades from me is not me. I’m no Lang Leav, nor Michael Faudet, nor Sarah Kay, but I like to think that I am somehow okay. I feel so young but in the best way. It’s because you opted to stay though I brought you pain several times and pushed you to the limit; you are changing everything I thought I knew about love. I clasp myself absentmindedly meandering to visions of a space convenient, shoebox alike apartment somewhere and furniture shopping and being able to see your skin crinkle when I opened the blinds. It is not my thing, I am not that type and that is startling and stupendous because nobody has ever been so serious about me and I think that maybe, baby, someday I’d like to be 80 with you.

You—you are too many similes and metaphors that reverberates the same, but each time I stumble upon them, I somehow manage to find something I haven’t read before. You are open doors and patient arms with a voice like lullaby that resonates in the darkest corners of my mind. You are equilibrium that does not require balance and a love so deep I could swim for all time’s sake and maybe that’s why I am drowning; because all I ever really learned to do is dog paddle because it is the basic swimming technique that I remembered when I was ten, back when I still have a swim coach. But you are so forbearing and stoical. Anyone else would have quit on me by now, you could have been gone by now but you did the opposite. The idea of forever has always terrified me but the words you kept telling me each dusk and dawn passes by, they make me think that they are real and maybe they are you. I adore you. I am in awe of you. I beg your pardon for using such meager words that will never do suffice of what I feel. My impotence is delinquent but I am trying my best, and I think I would rather puke these stuck clichés than return to the world of monochrome I lived in before I even took a glimpse in your soul. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you to the moon and back and every planet, stardust, galaxies in between. I love you to the Narnia and back because Narnia is somewhere the people cannot determine where and that explains my love for you—an unknown extent: immense and vast.  You are my coffee that I always drink in the early hazy hours of human life—a bittersweet taste I will never get tired of. You are the reason between my shaken knee and the leaves to my tree. And every rhyme I have yet to write but already addicted with it. I want to clamor at the seventh street that always reminds me of you or somewhere randomly of this love that leaves me sickening butterflies in my filthy ribs and blasting fireworks in the mound of flesh inside my chest. My love, I have injected prosaic in my veins and oddly, I felt joy as I do. This composition might be distressing but my heart is soaring. To be blocked has never been hospitable ever before than when it fills my heart, mind, soul and bloodstreams with your name, so baby, come here. Take off your jacket and make yourself comfortable.