Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.

The Little Prince (via weepling)

(via weepling)

in secret we sip poison, bleed champagne.
i fill my belly to the brim with ice, and it’s
the sheen of your porcelain smile, just
the ghost of lingering stares that blaze
about me as i sink into you, into oceans
of your naked voice. slip-wet and broken with
desire, your mouth burning red at the
lip of the cup, taste salt as we celebrate
this ferocious lie between youth and
the brilliance of morning.
carve rivers in marble and
promises in flesh, colour your
liquid eyes with empty sighs, until
you let yourself listen to the dark
rush of pain and cave to the pull of the fire.
you remember our luck in fever-dreams,
while i, alone, drown.

in secret


I have found someone
that holds the potential
to love me deeper
than you ever could.

Unlike with you, I have never
felt like a burden breathing in
the air that surrounds him. 
His eyes are warm, and yours
were empty. His fingers
hold more than lines that
represent all his past lovers,
and they graze my skin
with the touch of a gentle

I cannot keep it to myself.
I have never waited for anyone
past you, but I refuse to be
put on a shelf to never be
touched again.

(via word-digest)