poets of tumblr – Page 7

I want to get drunk and talk about you at parties
I want to know that I can do that because
I don’t really know if you’re mine.

What are we?
Can I tell my mom about you?
Can I daydream about you?

Do you still think about me a lot?
Do you still daydream of kissing me?
Is the shape of my lips imprinted
in your eyes, the way light stains your irises
after staring at the sun,
like your lips are in mine?

what did that kiss mean? // a.s.m

We laughed
because we both
hate summer

and you kissed me
while we melted
under the heat of the sun
and into each other
and even though it’s warmer
in bed when you lie next to me
I think this is the kind of heat
I could stand;

my skin says so when it sticks
to yours– it wants you
near.

I would sweat in this
desert forever
if it meant we could hate
summer together.

summer love // a.s.m

for the first time, being without you isn’t what terrifies me. it is the fact that i am without you, and i’m okay.

it’s scary to think i can move on when i loved you so much // a.s.m

my ethereal reality,
my dream-like state–
between your open arms and
the open curtains
where heaven pours in.

waking up next to you // a.s.m

i fell in love with
words and promises instead
of with a person.

and you didn’t keep your promises // a.s.m

oh, god.
i’m lost
inside myself again

trapped between the walls
of this flesh
and the implications of what
this means

if you ever let go, because
if i can be lost inside something
as small as myself
if you let me go,

if you let me go
i will never find my way
back.

lost // a.s.m

the sky was bruised and blooming
above us, deep
purple and black

the pool lights darted
by our feet
distorted and refracted.
scattered.
moving with the water

i lay floating
on my back, and

for the first time since
calling you mine, i felt
weightless.

you wrapped your arms around
my waist

for the first time
since calling me yours,

you carried
me.

when the weight returned
to my body
we ran home

our wet footprints left
to dry
beneath the winking moon.

night swimming // a.s.m

I can’t tell if
I get sad
on the days that I miss you,
or if
I miss you
on the days when I’m sad.

a.s.m

i see you, limp

on the ground
in every room of this house
and sometimes on sidewalks
and in darkly lit places.

i’ve been sleeping with the lights
on lately, but
they don’t protect me
from the darkness
that’s entered my mind

they leave,
constantly illuminated,
the inescapable end
i discovered in your eyes
as they rolled back
into your head
on the hardwood floors
where we used to build
empires.

your civil war // a.s.m

there is peace,
too much peace.

these walls are saturated,
dripping, and sickly sweet with
the stillness of avoidance –
nauseatingly daunting.

there
is always movement underneath
a still surface, there is always
something
eager to erupt.

Krakatau // a.s.m