|currently an uninspired douchebag who sits at home all day.|
SneakPerhaps she had never been firm enough around Marty. Although as teasing as their encounters were, she could not resist making him work for even the slightest touch at times. There were times she would willingly embrace him, or allow the briefest of kisses to her cheek and such. Any larger gestures deemed much hesitance from her, and much shying away and gentle protests. He always did manage, though.Sneak by decayingfingers
Usually, he was sneaky about it. Approaching her when she was least aware of it, and departing so quickly that she hardly caught who it happened to be. There was always a scowl offered his way, before she would turn and smile if he did indeed leave for the time being. It was a foolish cycle they had, but one she found herself enjoying more and more with the passing days.
There were times where she discovered him laying on the couch of her home, or sitting in the chair behind the desk at the shop. Either way, there were days she could expect him to show up and days when she could not expect
You've Been Looking at Virtues, All WrongYou've Been Looking at the Virtues of Child, Man, and Woman All WrongYou've Been Looking at Virtues, All Wrong by AzizrianDaoXrak
In the end we're all myths, hermaphroditic deities.
Our names are the most real things about us.
i. My mother named me for the Virgin
and I carry her legacy in my blood
she is my spirit animal; the creature
who crawled first across the placenta line
outside my home. In truth, I imagine all
are wolves or coyotes drawn by the smell
of fresh blood.
ii. There is no purity in childhood:
we are simply jesters with blistered feet
and the pu
ice queenShe takes you by the hipsice queen by sasunaru16
because she's too hungry
to appreciate the warmth
of your hands.
She transforms you with her fingers,
bending every edge till you're just her
ball, made of glass,
that she shakes once in a while.
She always preferred ice over sunshine.
And I can't stand the sight of her,
she chills me to the bone.
Because she has my whole world
in the palm of her hand
and I fear she might break it.
It tastes like love.I could speak of her in riddles,It tastes like love. by DearPoetry
in aged, anatomy textbook terminology-
but, I wont.
You see, I cuffed this angel to my bedpost.
I sank my teeth into feathers she wore like a cage
and asked if I was dreaming, because Love,
you're not holding me. If you only knew the you in my head,
every night--tearing with these heavenly fingers
at the cracks in my sanity- you would allow me this!
Her tongue tastes my tears; nails clawing, clawing, clawing-
she takes away my pain,
but she doesn't belong to me either.
"We are but wolves.
Tell me, what does my blood taste like?"