Je suis la secretaire... not everything is black and white... Here is where you enter text, info, about me, whatever, your page graphics, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc.
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it’s too hard to fake anymore. It’s starting to kill me. I’m so sorry. :(

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“how I long to be in some far off strange land with you…. with only you.”
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“They’ve squandered our riches, laid our lands to waste, soiled our good name…. it’s time we reclaim what is rightfully ours. Where will you be?”
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healthy glow

I long for the hot 86,

the deck hot beneath my feet,

the sun blazing down to tingle my skin.

It’s a feeling better than drugs or sex,

like the sun is running his hand over me,

starting at my ankle,

over my calf,

to my inner thigh,

next my hip,

then my waist,

up my chest and neck,

laying, smooth, hot kisses just the same.©

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Ride the wings of pestilience

I’ve been dreaming about you in a pool of your own blood with your eyes gouged out by the work of my thumbs. The scent of your insides from under the floorboards; a perfect perfume for settling a score.

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blankpagesandinvisibleink said:
apologies. i didn't realize.

It’s alright :)

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blankpagesandinvisibleink said:
the piece is titled 'the in between'. you do not alter a persons words, dear. please change it back. and thanks for the reblog.

I didn’t change it, whoever I reblogged it from did. Sorry.

149 notes ← reblog
© blankpagesandinvisibleink
where poet’s are born.

blankpagesandinvisibleink:

she had mastered the art
of living in the in between. 
a place where hearts reside
when they are neither here,
nor there. a place where
no one speaks, and no one hears.

the place where poets are born. 



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