The thing worse than loving something is not knowing what you love. What you love is what you see and that’s where the world starts to blur out and our eyes weave colours that aren’t there. The sight of a lake in a barren desert is an illusion that can either kill or breathe life into us. Perhaps that’s what love is. A hand in air, touching your body, as tenderly as a flower or as abruptly as a bolt of lightning. Some people never realise the water that isn’t there, the hand that doesn’t love. The hand that only knows love as a measure of pain. The skin that craves it, the lips that drink it, boiling sand running down parched throats, growing thorns of dead roses, arms colliding against bodies like the last meteor to end life, eyes searching for an illusion, the brain playing its tricks. Love. Water. An arm drowning in soil is confused for a growing seedling, and is left there, helpless, among other arms trying to pull it down. The ones that water it are just as guilty as the ones pulling it down. If you see a frown on a damp face, don’t confuse it for a smile that lost its way around gravity. Love is not drowning.
it’s the gentle lap of waves on your feet. it is the quiet beauty of the horizon when the sun sinks.
it’s the sudden breathlessness when you realize you’re no longer ashore but adrift.
you didnt know how it could take you without precaution and how you missed the process entirely, but yet here you are:
everything around your sharpens and for one sick moment everything seems bearable. youre drowning but the sea is warm.
those angels came with fire and swords — but I felt comfort, nonetheless.
in the summertime, we are eternal. lips
cherry sweet pressed together in the back
of a yellow camaro, hands sticky with
soda clasped firmly into each other. torn
skin from tree branches, lemon balm grenades,
days bleed into each other until we feel like
fallen angels too powerful for these bodies. it
tastes like pills in the back of a subway train,
and spray paint fumes fill our noses until we
can’t inhale anymore. we bury ourselves in the
dirt under old backyard tire swings until it fills
us full of nitrogen ecstasy. to us, anything but
sadness is akin to a thrill. we are invincible on
rooftops and in glass bottles shattered over
cement. hours and days and a lifetime slips past
us, and we just keep going faster. we take your
dad’s car out onto the highway because it’s the
fastest one we have, music head-splitting loud
and i sit silently in the back seat while you have
the time of your life. singing along feels like having
too much faith that my lungs won’t give out like
a car gives way and intertwines itself with a tree.
i look over to you in the driver’s seat and for once,
we stop moving.
When i look into Your eyes,
My scars starts to burn and i hear the echoes of your crying heart.
I sink deep into the ocean, start to drown but i can not die,
The water fills my lungs, it hurts and burns this endless punishment of mine for breaking your heart,
Now i am forever lost in those eyes
-thepineapplepoet (Eric Hutchinson)
Love story 💞 of the Sun 🌞 and the Earth 🌍
A man that really loves you, would never be willing to share you.
i rose with the sun
as the sky exploded,
navy blue and flamingo pink,
i wanted nothing more
than to turn to you,
cold, eyes still tired,
socked-feet on the balcony,
and say, “isn’t this marvelous?
isn’t this everything we could
ever ask for?”
the world is blooming
before our eyes –
but you’re not here,
i stand alone, with the winter,
i love myself
i cannot love you.
The pain has become an addiction.
It is a mutation that has grown to anything vital.
Pain gives a different perspective
I am not sure I took advantage of it
Instead of using it I just left myself stand by
Help me walk and run away from here
I am deeply sorry