vanna

zadiapoetry:

robotic repetitions
of sounds and pauses
thoughts of you
like swallowing cotton
unable to grasp love
as a foreign concept
where has feeling gone?

(via sexuallplants)

zadiapoetry:

It slows, It flies.
Freezing us in moments, pulling us through history.
We find ourselves lost in it, yet losing it.
What is time?
Numbers, ticking hands, a forgotten I love you?
Who can say.
Time is time.
Before we were,
Before anything was.
A fact of life.

The sweet sister of death,
Quiet and beautiful.
With eyes like dried roses,
Lips a deep maroon.
She wilts daisies,
Weakens our bones and wrinkles our skin.
lost passion between lovers,
an old cup of coffee.
Time is woven into everything,
an ink blot behind closed eyes.
the reason he drinks himself to sleep at night, and she never does.

Theres never enough.
Oh when will it end?
Whatever you do,
don’t forget youre running out.
Some chose to end it
in the peak of their youth
the glory days.
Cut the rose while its bloomed,
and let it rot.
immortality.

go ahead and live your life.
my darling don’t ever feel bored.
i wouldn’t want to keep you,
from the time you never have.

Hows life treating you?
now 60 years old.
You live alone,
but you have stories.
Do they keep you company?
Do they fill you with regret?
Tell me what the roses smell like on your side of town.
Tell me what time the birds come out to sing.
What the forest sounds like mid-autumn, as you sit writing about the girl you loved. The one you couldn’t keep up with.
Or tell me about the parties,
the places.
Motel rooms and lovers.
Tell me how you lived your beauty till the very end.
Like your worn scrunchie.
The one I still have,
somewhere in a coat pocket.

Who do you have now to distract you from yourself?
Who will love your stonewashed eyes,
Or kiss your deep maroon lips?
You lived for the day you died.
Now tell me, of the times you lived for life.
Or were you ever really alive?

(via sexuallplants)

zadiapoetry:

Her skin, marble stone, yet warm.
Her smile, tunnels my vision.
Drawing me in, a mystery.
Her eyes, the richest soil.
And her lips…
Oh, her lips,
Abysmal pink with a subtle pout.
Only seem fit for the softest of words.
Yet she dares speak in such tones.
A silent, slight lily
Lying with modest assurance, atop a midnight pool.
While latent in the clay sand,
Passion burns.
Honeycomb flames glow beneath her onyx lashes.
I’ve not once seen hazel so warm.
Her thoughts travels wilder than her mouth
and she stumbles.
Dissimilar her hands,
which move in sync with her perpetual mind.
Our hands touched for the slightest moment.
I do not know if you noticed,
Nor do I know you,
But I apologized nevertheless.
For you see, this is not a love poem.
I don’t even know how to pronounce your last name.
But your aura is unique,
like your beauty.
worthy of a documentation

(via sexuallplants)

zadiapoetry:

cannabis and citrus
rolls off your breath.
you tell me i’m your one and only.
it is the truth, that i know.
but do i wish it so?
how would i be if you weren’t here?

how would i be with another, 

or none?

your eyes full of skies
but can they see my doubt.
do you even care?
of course you do.
you care too much.
I’ve created a problem from thin air

(via sexuallplants)

sexuallplants:

A thick fog of wood-rot and beetle musk creates a mirage of tranquility. Welcoming sweet release from cadaver living, i sleep.The forest floor my bed of death. The sensation of talons sifting through gel forces me into consciousness just in time to witness feathers depart through a balcony of sorrowful branches. A carelessly dropped seed, the delay of my demise. Suddenly liquid electricity drinks my dying body from the inside out. The seed inserts its first hook and In that same second one becomes fifty. Fifty becomes thousands. And as if on command my decaying center sends out a rhythm so deep it drowns out galaxies. the sprout dances upwards, challenging it. the faster it grows the faster the beat becomes. my cheeks bloom crimson from the strain. hungry vines emerge from the crater near my temple at a rate that curses time. they grope their way down by body and i realize this sweet gift is destined to conquer me. stems slide down my throat and spill into my stomach. violating my darkness with an an electric disease. my nerves become gloves, controls at the will of the impostor. being forced to beat to an unstoppable tune my heart steals my control of breath. my blood an elixir harvested for the growth that has taken over me. the chaos only grows. i feel my insides heat up like an oven set to replicate hell. the flames lick my cheeks, warm my limbs, and seep into my decayed lips. i start to fade away, overcome by the warmth when suddenly i am jolted into utter bliss, an intense contrast that would throw my limbs outwards and my head back, were my body actually in my control. the vine mustve realized it was beginning to expire its stay. So i am pumped full of a torturous concoction of dissented pleasure and rising temperatures. my paralyzed being urges to release the flames building inside. urges to stop the vines from taking control. however i cannot help but lust for the poison. In spite of myself i am hooked. i continue to support the growth. a life sustaining garden tricked by you to play the role. with your single electrified seed you become the vine. your smell wearing my veins as gloves, your voice setting the warmth, and your closeness sucking me of my control. drink me with your impostorous roots. even with my body decomposed and my mind a ghost i still wish to be intertwined with you. An oak tree has grown through my concaved chest, use it as if it were me. as you climb across my bark inject me with your sweet chemicals, burn my branches with heat. explore me as you travel towards space. you are an overgrown vine disguised as a harmless breeze. your blooms take me by surprise and i breathe in the perfume as you suffocate me beautifully. first artificially accompanying me as a mere comfort in silence, i now long for your vines to travel along me with disastrous ease. do not spare me any sun. use me up an share with me the experience of you. and if i shall die, an enormous oak tree, and fall to the floor to decompose with the host of our past encounter. please continue to wrap your vines around me until all that is seen is green. stay there. till we are nothing but a pile of sweet decay. and then dust particles floating over the ocean.

(via sexuallplants)

jokeslinger:

dogmancer:

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Hey WhatsUp Guy’s Im Going To The 18th Dimensional Plane To Get Some Astral Groceries

Hey Every Body Im Back From The Store

holy fuck dude whats in that store

Oh You Know

(via leyorio-deactivated20170725)