Solopsist, Asleep

The harsh, cold reality of glass against skin; the sound of endless whispers raking the air's throat; a single heartbeat, an unspoken blink of an eye; life, cursed again...

btw today is a harmonic analysis textbook

shouldn’t come to the library so often. manage to get out a new book EVERY SINGLE TIME GAH

come back/come over

preview (i’ve so much updating to do)

preview (i’ve so much updating to do)




i want to take baths with you and hold your hand and rent movies and watch those movies in your bed in our underwear at like 3 in the morning and i want to kiss your face and cook you food and maybe fuck 7 times a night

(Source: xepire, via we-llstartanewrevolution)


all at once, things come crumbling

together. a step in every direction,
rightful empty dissolves to leave,
in stationary hollow, itself:
presented representation. no
point left unscathed. the exact
same moment the water started
leaking down and out the walls. a
series of equicardinal trackmarks in
the snow. over the bridge we shift
momenta. wheels turn. nerves
coupling. a flood laps at my 
unfurling fingerprints. water
rises like swallows nesting in the
marsh of my throat. try as we might,
turn of position, matched glance, precession
after next, the swell silently engulfs the woodwork.

blood curls through these beds, as beautiful as the water running over;
waves distill through smaller wash.

a larger scheme spreads its lips. the teeth
play quotient to tree limbs. a schedule unwound.
caught the sun with smooth hooks.
everything changes from here, or stagnates at a
shifting viewpoint. but, from this glowing angle,
i could mistake you for ordinality or
plain daylight. i could
fall a little

instead, all translates in bold motion,
binding fibers of dissolution,
morning hues 
through the dark.