The Way That You Love MeIf only I could learn how to love youMore Like This
I'd love you the way that you need me to
I'd do everything I could to make you happy
But I don't love you the way that you love me
I can't bring myself to just up and walk away
I don't want to hurt you, but I don't want to stay
I don't want to be the one who makes you cry
So I keep holding off on telling you goodbye
The longer I wait, the harder it's going to be
But I can't find the strength to set you free
How am I supposed to just break your heart
And leave you there as you're falling apart
It's not the way that this was supposed to end
But I can't make myself fall in love again
I wish that somehow it were just as easy
To love you the way that you love me
Untitledwe are in Rome telling the dirt how it murdered its brother.More Like This
we are shouting at every historical monument from the books with affection and insult and nobody cares about yesterday.
"he wants to kill himself but he just writes a lot of stories with sad endings. don't talk to him."
i believe in love now. i don't know if i've grown up at all or learned from my mistakes or just lost and lost and lost. i'll write something. i'll write you stories. i'll mean it. i'll run away and never come back. some things never change.
"well the boy was found to have consumed the full body of a small mouse, a penny, broken glass, dirt, whisky... then hanged himself."
i am an abandoned house, i am here, i am still here.
Drink Me [Mad Hatter!England x Reader]“It is time to wake up, Alice.”More Like This
“Come now, dearie…you’ll be late for tea if you keep sleeping.”
Late? For tea? Why would I be drinking tea?
(E/c) eyes snap open and look around in disorientation, heart beating fast as the voice jolts her awake. Said eyes widen as they take in the scene before them: a great long table before her, every inch covered with silver dishes stacked with sweets and teapots letting white steam into the air. The girl looks down and finds herself in a light blue dress and white stockings, almost like the clothing of a doll. Her (h/c) hair is decorated with red ribbons and all she can think is What’s going on?!
“Ah, you’ve finally awoken! Good, good~”
She lifts her gaze towards the voice—the same voice that woke her up, she realizes—to see a man sitting at the other end of the table. His eyes are like a snake
the things they should have told ussee, no one really warns us about growing up.More Like This
they leave out things like heartbreak and gossip and broken people you could have saved but didn't.
it is this: the girl who holds her wrists and sits alone and tells me no child should ever grow up being afraid of someone who should love them. Her eyes are fierce, and something inside me is screaming but the clock ticks and the moment is past. i pretend i can't hear the pieces of her shatter as they hit the floor.
the next time we speak there are new shadows beneath her eyes and her shoulders hunch as if somehow she could fold into herself and disappear. maybe it would be better for us both if she did. but she doesn't. she can't and i can't and outside the sky is robins egg blue but inside a storm is brewing and the hallways smell of regret.
then, she is gone.
murmurs, rumors follow in her wake like dark ripples over stormy water.
she is gone, lost, taken, stolen, dead. in the halls, her name is whispered, softly, fervently, like a
think youre a slam poet nowwell, my fatherMore Like This
he thought he was a cowboy,
he thought he was a yank
he thought everyone he met was his partner in crime
and life was an all end all shoot-em-up
he told stories
and he taught me how to dance with drunks.
well my mother,
she thought i was a changeling,
she thought the world was out to get her
she taught me
well she taught me that innocence is fragile
and that what is sweet often sours,
that madness is not the kind of disease we think it is.
and i grew up
wanting to create something beautiful
or both at the same time
with my little hands, and big eyes
and that used to scare me
cause contradictions in my head
at night, when i dream't
with my hand against my ear
thinking the pounding of blood vessels
was the pounding of the big bad wolf coming to get me
and i would dream of the world
with the trampling of a flower,
they are not haunted
but they are inhabited,
i have a soul sir,
and i won't sell it
not for your pennies
To Whom It May Concern - #5And as it turns out,More Like This
I didn't need to write
about your eyes so much,
because I'm doing a lot
of remembering these days,
and I swear they've become my own.
or maybe it actually is.thisMore Like This
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.