turtlexx

i’m writing poetry in crooked black lines down your throat and along your neck because maybe they will lead you back to me. i'm looking through attics and dark broken alleyways for something to believe in, but all i’m coming up with is dust and empty pockets of gasp-for-breath moments when i’m alone and the silence is crushing down on me. i can’t find it, can’t find the faith you’ve slung so easily around your neck next to your collection of paper thoughts and that piece of my heart. (but i could never find you, either, so maybe it’s just me.) yesterday i went to the beach when it was raining. around