Hands shaking like
windows during a winter storm
and the dirt underneath your fingernails never gets scrubbed out, and
you are never made new, you are never given a second chance. Spines cracking, dark, like a secret whispered
into cold skin, in raw light, bleeding, bleeding - where? Terror, six feet under the frozen surface, you
swallow the blood.
— m.f., “for kieren walker” (via janesyre)
I think that I think too much and maybe you are everything that crosses my mind.
— Matthew Hauptman (via matthewhauptman)