Animus Vox

Get Out

Drawn back again to writing love poems,

despite the frustration of wanting to write about anything,

but you.

So tangled within my thoughts,

that the only words that seep into my mind,

relate to desire,

passion,

And so much fucking love.

I’d rather write of nonsense;

rivers of words that sound pretty,

but have a hollow feeling.

Anything is better,

than bleeding out my feelings for you;

vomiting them onto paper,

every time the pen is in my hand.

liquidlightandrunningtrees:

“The earth is a trembling thing. I lay at her feet and kiss her ankle. We are all trembling things.”

— Anis Mojgani, This House

(via guardless)

heyoh-s:

I grew up believing that I was hard to love — and that any sort of kindness was lost on someone like me.