vega-ofthe-lyre:

from driving, not washing by richard siken

(Source: meltingconfetti)

7

What would you like? I’d like my money’s worth.
                                       Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this—
        swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood
on the first four knuckles.
                                                    We pull our boots on with both hands
but we can’t punch ourselves awake and all I can do
                   is stand on the curb and say Sorry
                                        about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.

I couldn’t get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.

duemilaquarantasei:

Unfinished Duet - Crush | Richard Siken

(Source: felinedeconinck)

(Source: americanite)

(via batfaggery, deadbolts)

cockmouth:

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.

(Source: whitedovesgo)

Excerpt from Little Beast by Richard Siken.

pacificoast:

An all-night barbeque. A dance on the courthouse lawn.
               The radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night
is thinking. It’s thinking of love.
                                                             It’s thinking of stabbing us to death
and leaving our bodies in a dumpster.
      That’s a nice touch, stains in the night, whiskey and kisses for everyone.