Galaxies Away From Their Standards



Hey I'm Susana I'm a poet before anything and a lover of girls music and traveling.College student. Don't be afraid to say hi :)or kik me at : susy_14

i have something on my mind, Emma Bleker (via stolenwine)

Stars were
born from
the smiles
of people
like you.

F. Scott Fitzgerald  (via c-oquetry)

(Source: larmoyante, via theresthingsbetterleftunsaid)

I’m yours — you know it.

The Weeknd “King Of The Fall” (via sweetindielove)

(via prettywordsdie)

Don’t get mad, let her get hers…

confessions from my alcoholic mother  (via irynka)

(via irynka)

1.
i liked you because when you spoke you said
things like “blue busses remind me of Easter”
and “God lives inside the walls of art museums”

2.
two days before graduation you picked me up at 4 AM
and we drove down to Michigan, I told you about my
sister and you told me about winters in Connecticut

3.
when i left for college, i wrote you three poems and
handed them to you in white envelopes, you gave me
sea shells you found when you were thirteen and alone

4.
he tastes bitter and i still think about your laughter
i wonder if you look for the moon on broken nights
because my skin burns when strange boys touch me

5.
when i received the invitation to your wedding,
i took a shower and boiled myself into patches
of pain, then i called and said congratulations

6.
she looked beautiful at the wedding and i got
drunk off of red wine and told your mother how
you used to cry when people called you brave

7.
we talked once, you told me you haven’t read
my poems yet and asked if i still had your sea
shells, i told you i was supposed to be in white

8.
i moved to Australia and three years later i
received an apology letter from you which
i burned and then wouldn’t sleep for weeks

9.
i still think about you on nights when my
husband is sleeping and my black lungs
want cigarettes i promised to stop smoking

10.
i saw you in my dreams last night, you
were kissing my neck and stroking my
thighs and i woke up crying in sweat

11.
i went to your funeral last Thursday night,
you were always talking about Autumn so
i didn’t think you should have died in winter

12.
i cut my hair short before visiting your grave
because i didn’t want anyone to recognize me,
i left your sea shells and cried on the way home

(via yoursixwordstory)

(via makemefeelsafe)

I’ve lost you all over again.

(via ph0king)

(Source: thoseconstellations, via rienderen)

Some days, I wonder
if you miss me.
Other days, I wonder
why I’m still wondering.

Anne Sexton, from The Black Art (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via rienderen)

Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.

(via nosamare)

(Source: flumini, via enjoy-your-nightmares)

I chug the taste of your lips and the melody of your heartbeat that I fell asleep to. I chug the sound of your footsteps on the stairs and the smell of your skin doused in Polo Black until my vision is a black tunnel flooded with water as opaque as you and I’ve been drowning for weeks because I never learned to swim in something so cold. You forged canyons in my back with your fingertips and stained my arms with your fingerprints that I see with fatigued eyes every time I dare to look down but for some reason I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you even though you buried me alive and I can hardly breathe anymore and I don’t hate you even though every song makes me think of you and my stomach turns to dust whenever the train rumbles by your station. I never knew a person could build a home in my mind like you did and make it that much harder to seek silence while I wander around and feel nothing but the sky breathing hard on my back. As I pace the train station and feel you kicking at the deepest corners of my brain, I imagine my phone vibrating and seeing your name flash across the screen while my heart implodes. I imagine you unfolding my letter for a second time and rereading the patronizing side notes that you hurled at me like baseballs and regretting how purple you made the bruises on my skin. I heard the first heartbreak was always the worst but no one told me it would make me think you were made of gold and make the rain feel five hundred times colder when I walk home alone. Even now as I pass your stop, I crane my neck till it hurts to see the empty space on the wall where we angrily tore off the subway map, you because you loved her and me because I loved you. Sometimes I press my lips together and pretend that you’re in the cracks where they bleed from, because I don’t care when they’re chapped anymore and smoothing them out with lipstick would make me forget how bittersweet you taste. How strong that first sip was, making me forget every other flavor on my tongue, fueling little fires in my body that burn hottest when I sleep alone, shaking me awake from how much the memory of your taste burns, sending alcohol coursing through my veins and drenching my brain in a bath of poison and wine.
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