A little while away
someone is sleeping happilyTheir tiny toes wrestle to find light
While those nasty thoughts
finally find peace, tonight,
between sentimental stories of
failed poets and menWill you believe in love still,
more than my hands?
Would you believe me now,
if I had a story to tell
or a humble plea?I felt the earth drop through my
stomach when you said you were
leaving me…
Stacey May Fowles, The Fantasy of Acceptable “Non-Consent”: Why the Female Sexual Submissive Scares Us (and Why She Shouldn’t)
(Source: bitterglitterqueer, via eleiomomae)
(via webbgirl88)
(via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
my love, my love is dead i buried it
in the falling leaves, looking awful green, in the whipping wind
my love, my love is dead i buried it
and it’s better hid, all the shit we sling into the whipping wind
my love, my love is dead i buried it
just an honest kid, i always did everything they said
my love, my love is dead i buried it
what a senseless thing! this heart in shreds in the whipping wind!