Forgive me;
I misread the fire in your eyes but they just turned out to be burning
apologies I was yet to receive.

You had prose stuck between your teeth and you dove between my thighs with intentions as crooked as the lines of my tattoos your fingertips used to trace while you fell asleep on me.
(I know you hate writers who use run on sentences. Maybe that was a foreshadowing I should have read more into.)

Your name now tastes like corpses on my tongue, a graveyard of ‘what-ifs’ have burrowed in my mouth since the day you changed your mind and I’m losing sleep over what we could have been and there’s a field of holes six feet deep for letters I’m still writing you.

Forgive me;
I have been trying to burn your name out of my throat but we smoke the same cigarettes and the whiskey just tastes like the first nite you kissed me.
(All my vices are remnants of you. Maybe I’ll try to find some irony in that.)

Forgive me;
You’re not something I’ll ever know how to let go of.

—(trm) forgive me (via acutelesbian)


(via letstalkaboutgivingup)


if this is the universe’s way of teaching me a crucial lesson can i just say homie i appreciate all that you do for me but this is reaaaaally a bad time 

(via shayeofthesea)

Conditions are never perfect. ‘Someday’ is a disease that will take your dreams to the grave with you. If it’s important to you and you want to do it ‘eventually’, just do it and correct the course along the way.