scorp

Nobody realizes how small we are, in a big, big, cruel world.

It’s the fifth time he’s been here this week. 

Time could kill, but it could not kill everything.

a nostalgic poem?

sometimes i wonder if there’s a point to even writing this

writing is unseeing.

I thought love was all in the shoulders. Hunched, preparing for the moment you will lunge at my neck. [...] Love and fear, as far as I knew, were the same scars.

In a night with no stars and no moon, there was a shadow in the darkness.

Like a dream she had drifted from the room,  And like a dream she seemed unreal, and like a dream she was gone.

But his hand were another thing entirely; nimble fingers, smooth skin, even something as accurate as anatomical sketches could not capture what she saw.

a poem for all the mother figures in our lives-happy belated mother's day!

What would humanity do if we could live forever?