1. 11:20 30th Sep 2014

    Notes: 4

    Somebody please wake Green Day up tomorrow. Yeah they’re grown ass adults who should know how to set an alarm clock but watcha gonna do.

     
  2. 09:49

    Notes: 1219

    Reblogged from unfolded-proteins

    Plays: 9,180

    gingerhaze:

    Lay back, lay back, go to sleep, my man

    Wipe the blood from your face and your hands

    Forgive yourself if you think you can

    Go to sleep, go to sleep, my man.

     
  3. 01:11

    Notes: 1269

    Reblogged from jacquelinedole

    Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness…
    —   Kurt Vonnegut (via purplebuddhaproject)
     
  4. 10:31 29th Sep 2014

    Notes: 513

    Reblogged from promiseskept

    Plays: 1,775

    crashmcdougal:

    Jawbreaker - Kiss The Bottle

    So I lean on you sometimes 
    Just to see you’re still there 
    Your feet can’t take the weight of one 
    Much less two 
    We hit concrete 
    How were we born into this mess? 
    I know I painted you a prettier picture, baby 
    But we were run out on a rail 
    Fell from the wagon to the night train 
    I kissed the bottle 
    I should’ve been kissing you 
    You wake up to an empty night 
    With tears for two 

     
  5. 22:29 28th Sep 2014

    Notes: 265

    Reblogged from oofpoetry

    When the hangman of morrow comes to hang the sun in its daily execution say this with me:
    Sarah, we are apples, our love is an arrow;
    I am unbuttoning my shirt; painting a circle over my heart,
    Please, just shoot straight.
    — Anis Mojgani, “Milos” (via oofpoetry)
     
  6. 22:29

    Notes: 1359

    Reblogged from oofpoetry

    I dream too much, and I don’t write enough, and I’m trying to find God everywhere. I’m trying to figure out this thing He made called a man.
    — Anis Mojgani (via oofpoetry)
     
  7. 22:27

    Notes: 2565

    Reblogged from oofpoetry

    I.
    Our kiss is a secret handshake, a password.
    We love like spies, like bruised prize fighters,
    Like children building tree houses.
    Our love is serious business.

    One look from you and my spine reincarnates as kite string.

    When I hesitate to hold your hand,
    it is because to know is to be responsible for knowing.

    II.
    There is no clean way to enter
    the heavy machinery of the heart.

    Just jagged cutthroat questions.
    Just the glitter and blood production.

    III.
    The truth is this:
    My love for you is the only empire
    I will ever build.

    When it falls,
    as all empires do,
    my career in empire building will be over.

    I will retreat to an island.
    I will dabble in the vacation-hut industry.
    I will skulk about the private libraries and public parks.

    I will fold the clean clothes.
    I will wash the dishes.
    I will never again dream of having the whole world.

    — Mindy Nettifee, “This is the Nonsense of Love” (via oofpoetry)
     
  8. 22:27

    Notes: 966

    Reblogged from oofpoetry

    The little bonus of
    my hand on your hip. Who needs the constellated sea?
    All is as it should be.
    — David Swanger, from “Sleeping with You,” in Wayne’s College of Beauty (BkMK Press, 2006)
     
  9. 22:26

    Notes: 4044

    Reblogged from oofpoetry

    i think i met all the
    wrong men before
    you and i think they
    ruined me but i
    think you’re really
    handsome the way
    a map is handsome,
    with skin wide open
    soaked in the whole
    world’s ink.
    — Safia Elhillo, “susie knuckles in love” (via oofpoetry)
     
  10. 22:26

    Notes: 1006

    Reblogged from oofpoetry

    I allow myself
    the luxury of breakfast
    (I am no nun, for Christ’s sake).
    Charmed as I am
    by the sputter of bacon,
    and the eye-opening properties
    of eggs,
    it’s the coffee
    that’s really sacramental.
    In the old days,
    I spread fires and floods and pestilence
    on my toast.
    Nowadays, I’m more selective,
    I only read my horoscope
    by the quiet glow of the marmalade.
    — Dorothea Grossman, “I Allow Myself” (via oofpoetry)