Princess Theatre, Detroit
— Anonymous (via psych-facts)
— F. Scott Fizgerald (via psych-facts)
and maybe that’s why I didn’t see this coming.
Because it’s always raining in poems
decides to call it quits,
but with you,
it was mostly just an empty sky.
You told me we were both loaded guns
with no targets left to shoot at,
and that it was time to love in softer ways.
I pray the words don’t leave me the way you did.
Too much quiet and no thunder to warn
about the way I’ll start counting
the earth’s rotations wondering if I am really
going somewhere or not.
Turns out I don’t need your weight
on top of me for the planet
to tilt from the enormity of what lives underneath my skin.
Turns out it takes almost ten minutes
for the sun to reach out far enough to hold my hand
from where she’s singing
and even less time
when no one’s standing in my way."
— Y.Z, Maybe it’s up to me to find the light this time (via rustyvoices)
that I drank you in once
is the hangover
I still have every morning."
— Y.Z (via rustyvoices)
and if you should find your hand stained with dirt,
then I want you to plant flowers.
The outsiders will stare and they will
ask about your sisters and the mother
you didn’t love well enough.
Don’t talk about the cancer,
don’t mention the sickness.
When God shows up on your doorstep,
and you have no words this time,
forgive yourself for slamming the door
and closing the curtains.
On the nights your sadness clings to you
like the scent of last night’s lover,
you pry it off.
You peel it away from your skin.
You do whatever it takes,
but you don’t let it stay
and you don’t offer it your bed.
You are so much greater than
the pain wrapping itself around you,
even on the days you feel smaller than
the specks of dust settling in your lungs.
One day you will learn to breathe easy,
but until then you will just have to remember to breathe."
— Y.Z, Dealing with grief (via rustyvoices)
"you said you thought
freckles were beautiful
so I went out at night
and took many stars
from the now starless sky
and put them on your cheeks
now everytime I look at you
I see galaxies”
Lifehack: invite ants right into your house
my roulette is Russian
soldier’s soul, no room for discussion
Revolver equipped with the standard six
No warning label of the fear this game inflicts
When it’s real, the passion is profound
Single round determines if we hit the ground
One chamber loaded
Outcome determines who is demoted
Manually, after the cylinder spins
and this potentially lethal proposition comes to an end
I mean, who’s gonna sound the alarm
when one of us decides how unorthodox this really is?
One in six chances to determine the outcome
of the information I found out under some
inexplicable circumstances after the night you showed me the gun
The naked truth, don’t you remember?
Pop quiz about who pulled out the hardware for this game to commence.
Call it deja vu, a premonition or one hell of a sixth sense
I had in a dream a few weeks before
I figured out I’d love to be a soldier in battle if everything you told me warranted a war.
Until then, amongst this silence, the gun goes back in the holster
The ball has always been in your court,
it’s your decision to reupholster
Just don’t be surprised if I put in a transfer
This is real for me, my main excuse for wanting an answer
for a love I’ve decided I’d give my soul to
Trigger release, game over
I’m the one having an outer body experience
Somebody call the police.