Never can have too little trust

This physical illness is quite like the sickness I feel inside. Everything that has anything to do with you assholes makes me sick. How many times have you all infected and poisoned the purity of friendship? Of trust? Of faith? Cousin after friend after cousin after priest after friend. I will never understand the workings of your malicious minds, but I think it's time I stay weary of all XY-influenced intentions.


My faith. Crushed. Pepper- makes me want to leave a stinging in your mouth. Sad that I honestly find it nearly impossible that a man wrote this..

I can’t describe the sound of her voice

The music in her hugs

Or the rose pedals in her walk

But I imagine that her words

Are like fig leaves

That dance to the sound of opinions that refuse to be silenced

The conviction in her sentences

Can make an ocean question beauty of its own waves

I bet the stars spend hours in the mirror

Getting pretty

Putting on extra sparkle

Hoping that she will notice them in the moonlight

I imagine the morning gets jealous whenever she wakes up at noon

I bet the knees of twilight buckle whenever she compliments a sunset

I bet the streetlights shine a little bit brighter

Simply because she is standing underneath them

I bet the sidewalk plays a symphony

Just to make sure that her feet have something to listen to in between steps

I can’t describe the sound of her voice

The music in her hugs

Or the rose pedals in her walk

But I know

I know that she is more than just another piece of land waiting to be claimed

She is a music note

Waiting to be loved into a song

She is an acoustic guitar

Waiting patiently for the hands that have been trained to hold her properly

She is a wind chime inside a culdesac

And her skin is a melody

That very few men will have the pleasure of hearing