she’s graceful with her patience,
but breathes smokey air when anxious;
keeps her pack of luckies
right next to her Marc Jacobs.
a walking contradiction,
always has an explanation.
afraid of what lives in the dark,
but sunsets are her favorite.
m.o.
this, us,
we’re a one way ticket.
far past forever,
that’s where we’re headed;
hand in hand
and hearts attached.
on this road,
there’s no going back.
If you think I call the highway home,
I’m sorry,
but you’re wrong.
I may have a gypsy soul;
but I know where I belong.
It might not be a town,
or a house that I call home.
It’s wherever it is that I’m with him,
home is where we roam.
and even if we went up in flames and came crashing down,
I’d just be honored to burn beside you.
Just a pretty face among pretty faces;
don’t search for love in no such places.
Beauty lies just beneath the skin,
but can you tell the Hell she’s in?
Deep blue eyes, you’ll come to find,
are much deeper than you may like.
West Virginia really did treat me fine,
with her red dirt mud and acres of pines.
Wild and wonderful her rivers did flow,
with a calmness about them that I didn’t know.
I found logs and old bridges that settled my soul,
as the Blue Ridge Mountains swallowed me whole.
Never again could I be the same,
not after these hills have called out my name.
Run.
My hot breath left me as I panted into the night air. I could just barely see a cloud drift from my mouth, thanks to the fullest moon that’s ever watched over me peeking through the pines. The fog settled over top the pond and I could feel the dampness clinging to me. If they caught me, I’d be dead, but I’ve never felt more alive.
madelineoutman reblogged
Cup of Tea
Perhaps tea just isn’t for me;
I don’t take polite sips daintily.
If you really are my cup of tea,
there will be no indulging carefully.
My lips will crash into you,
hard and hungry,
not slow and smooth.
I’ll drink you in so desperately,
I doubt that I’ll have time to breathe.
God, he’s gorgeous.
6 feet, 200 pounds of pure perfection.
His eyes mesmerize; are they blue or green or gray?
They are a shade I’ve never seen, so I can’t really say.
His hair is an impossibily beautiful sandy blonde,
and his smile is just crooked enough to make him absolutely flawless.
“What are you?” he asked after she placed his meal in front of him.
“An angel, probably,” she said with a smirk.
His eyes stayed locked to her as hers danced towards the window;
orange leaves twirled in little tornadoes as the sunset glow cascaded through the pine trees.
She could feel his eyes on her, so she batted her lashes back in his direction.
“This is happiness, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yeah, I think it is,” she admitted.
I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.
Maybe if I would have just taken my time. . .
But no,
I had to go rushing after you
from every other place I found myself.
But I was never really there;
my head and heart were already sitting next to you.
All too often I ended up waiting alone,
even after hurrying home.
Because alas
your heart didn’t crave mine like mine did yours.
So again I’ll wait.
And I’ll break my own heart. . .
again.
Comforting Torture
because even something as simple as gazing at the stars moves me to tears. . .
Surrounded by each other, but not close enough to reach.
Beautiful, but untouchable.
Is it
comforting,
or is it
torture?
If one day the lines between love and pain get blurry, I hope you walk away.
I glance up from the dishes and gaze out the window;
I’ve never seen anything that was quite this beautiful.
My sweet baby girl wobbles on new feet,
running from Daddy with rose on her cheeks.
Daddy’s smile comes straight from his soul,
and here in this moment, I can’t help but hold
my breath and my chest
as my heart floods with pride.
If I’ve never done anything else that was right,
I have this perfect picture
in my head forever.
I walk through this garden and
it haunts me in ways I could never,
just never,
possibly explain.
The posies stare up, they look me in my face
and they gaze into my soul;
that dark,
ugly place.
They’re too pretty,
the posies,
to be planted here.
This garden is a graveyard,
and it lives off of fear.
Gardens should be tended and handled with care,
but here,
in this garden,
nobody would dare.
There are skeletons beneath it;
the flowers are a ruse.
They make you walk on by,
because you haven’t got a clue
that the posies are just covering
what happened
underneath.
It’s what remains of the demons,
it’s the bones and teeth.
You would never know what’s hiding
under the surface
because what you can see
is just
so perfect.
Brace yourselves; prepare to be
shocked at what you’re about to see.
I wish it weren’t true, but a liar, I’d be,
if I said that this garden
was not really me.
I started with no destination,
but soon enough I figured out
that lost is where I was hoping
that I would find myself.
.