Let me bleed.
I want my electric-filled flesh
to burn down cities
and light up candles,
to leave behind a trail of ashes
for the children who want to build
wildfire from scratch.
7:01 pm 6 notes
September 14 2014
best feeling in the world:
eating fries and studying for a french exam at mcdonald’s on a school night while college students with tattoos and friendly smiles order sodas and one-dollar burgers.
September 1 2014
new york craigslist > personals > missed connections >
by Megan Falley
you were last seen walking through a field of pianos. no. a museum of mouths. in the kitchen of a bustling restaurant, cracking eggs and releasing doves. no. eating glow worms and waltzing past my bedroom. last seen riding the subway, literally, straddling its metal back, clutching electrical cables as reins. you were wearing a dress made out of envelopes and stamps, this was how you traveled. i was the mannequin in the storefront window you could have sworn moved. the library card in the book you were reading until that dog trotted up and licked your face. the cookie with two fortunes. the one jamming herself through the paper shredder, afraid to talk to you. the beggar, hat outstretched bumming for more minutes. the phone number on the bathroom stall with no agenda other than a good time. the good time is a picnic on water, or a movie theatre that only plays your childhood home videos and no one hushes when you talk through them. when they play my videos i throw milk duds at the screen during the scenes i watch myself letting you go – lost to the other side of an elevator – your face switching to someone else’s with the swish of a geisha’s fan. my father could have been a traveling salesman. i could have been born on any doorstep. there are 2,469,501 cities in this world, and a lot of doorsteps. meet me on the boardwalk. i’ll be sure to wear my eyes. do not forget your face. i could never.
2:52 pm 1,303 notes
September 1 2014
An empty chair waits at the empty table.
The light is brighter than your bedroom’s.
You’ve been folding small paper cranes
during art class but they can never
stand on their own.
When you were eight
your dad would fold paper airplanes
and you would cry when they
You’re fourteen now
and you worry about who would
and who wouldn’t be alive by the time
you get married.
An endless battle rages
in your head
but you still get your mind blown
by the fact something beautiful exists
above us even when the sky dims
and you go to sleep.
The candle is waning like a crescent moon.
Time is only beginning
10:47 am 4 notes
September 1 2014
11:49 am 15,235 notes
August 24 2014
the world may mean nothing to you, but you mean everything to the world.
8:26 pm 1 note
August 19 2014
I’m sitting on the rooftop, sweat sticking to my thighs like a lover’s never fleeting memory, a lingering kiss on a white summer afternoon. The sidewalk is quiet. In just a few hours, these roads will be covered in cars’ rubber tracks, sleepy teenagers crawling on their bee-stung knees, and paramedics alarming the neighbors with a nervous gasp and a gray trail of exhaust. By the time I wake up, they will be running back home, mouths tingling with lust as if they’ve been kissed by butterflies, hearts synchronized in a familiar drumbeat. And I’ll be here on my parents’ rooftop, watching the sun drown in shades of peach and violet, fading into a family of stars, whispering a soft-spoken song in my ear like a secret.
6:59 pm 2 notes
August 17 2014