mechanical pencils & paper hearts

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half blade, half silk
"As if the gods discovered rain by chance
you peel off the paint on every ceiling
like fake layers of the sky coming undone,
with every tear falling from your eyes
turning back into salt as though it can.
Who told you it can? You’re drinking
fragments of  wine from mugs
after they were thrown on walls. You lie
on the floor counting sunset dust
before they drop the way your body drops,
not heavy, no, not feeling anything at all.
Light dissolving into silence, and silence
dissolving into dark, this: how come the earth
circles around the sun without steering wrong?
Gravity. But honey you are crashing, you’re bits
turning into bits into molecules, and back.
And back. Because how can water hurt
this much and still flow? The gods must have
made it heavy the first time it was whole,
you say. The gods must have made me heavy
the first time they thought I was whole."
▼
  Kharla M. Brillo, The Way You Ache (via pouvoires)

(via lonelyscribbles)





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