remember when I wrote
the rise and fall into fiction?
we were bright but waning
like the moon on harvest monday,
skin covered in peaks and dust.
the first words on your lips
were a prayer: the first footprint
on a flag-claimed land.
you spoke the song of my flaws
in the night, discordant calls
into empty space ether,
and I never echoed back,
never let the dust settle,
never stopped in swift
syncope to orbit.

remember when I wrote
the slow fade into fiction?
remember when
the words came true?

the rise and fall of us

liz 9.15.2014

(via lizletsgo)


Daughter, sometimes love will try to rip your throat out.

It will sink its eyeteeth into you and search for the softest flesh,

the bruised and bloody parts of you that only just finished healing.

There are men that will make you long for the moon

and the cool skin of summer, dew on your skin

and being pushed up against the fridge as all the blackbirds