There Are Some Stains Only A Dark Rain Can Make.

my mum is coming to paris on tuesday. we haven't seen each other in about a year and a half... i wanna get her flowers for when i pick her up at the airport. which kind of flower is ideal for this situation? which kind of flower shouts thank you for existing, thank you breathing by my side?

An excerpt from the poem Happy Poem by Sean Glatch (@7-weeks​); featured in his debut poetry collection 4:41 | buy it here!

st-roch

Musée des Beaux Arts Marseille, France 10:27 a.m / 27 ° (prolly)

Jacques-Louis David (French painter) - 1748, Paris, FR St-Roch intércedant la Vierge pour la guérison des pestifecés Saint Roch Interceding with the Virgin for the Plague-Stricken

from old english 'martyr', late latin 'martyr' & doric greek 'martyr'; a witness, a proof, bystander, behoof. take all the blame in the world & thrust it upon a humble man until the weight of grief drowns him down to a single knee. to grab another man's mysery & wear it until fingers run black & every pore in the canvas of a body is painted in cold sweat. do we fold our hands in prayer to let our right tell our left there might be some wisdom in regret?

men and deity can't waltz in the dark; as men trip in shadows & deities only sway in the light. martyr & deity cross sights that hide words; martyr says grace; deity says wait (she's so hard to please but she's a forest fire).

belief turns to faith only when your feet run past the cliff's edge. it then whispers: roch, grab your fellow man's pain and make it your own; catapult it to the skies until the beads in your rosary become buboes under your skin. roch awaits a celestial intervention on the misery of humankind & holds dear the flames of disease. preaching hope & aching. miracles à la carte don't exist, roch later realized this when deities handed him his own cure while every standing being surrounding him, crumbled. but u a saint now, roch. u iconic.

- @skinthepoet

I know I used to live without you but that was before I knew the brown speckles of your eyes or the softness of your lips. Before your laughter became my favourite sound and your smile the brightest part of my day. That was before I fell in love with you. Now you’re a part of me like the blood in my veins or the air in my lungs and I need you just as bad. I can’t imagine a day without you and I hope I’ll never have to again.

(via ifthenightcouldtalk)

Sometimes I wish I can go back in life. Not to change things, just to feel a couple of things twice We’ll be together on the same page, on the same line Hands over hands, reliving the moments, reliving the time..

I will write about you until my hand aches and my heart does not.

purpl-reign  (via wnq-writers)

i’ve been spending a lot of time on trains, lately. always between places. always spending more time looking out the window while all this blue blurs into one big blue and i’m somewhere so close to home. this is my entire being wrapped together neatly. there is something inside of me that always wants to be somewhere else. i’ve been writing about this ever since poetry found me, at sixteen, at seventeen, in the dark & buried under a lifetime of existing. // i’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about people who don’t love me, or didn’t know how to love me. all this leaving leaves this feeling inside of me that is unlike loneliness, it’s more than loneliness. and when i’m screaming into the night, i have to remember that the night is only a time of day. that the moon is only a result of collision. that there are people who have stayed. and loved. for years. // and maybe poetry is my way of trying to get to the other side; of saying, i love you but it’s okay if you don’t love me. i know how the universe works. all this love is so beautiful, it’s cruel. 

A short pitstop in the South Island one morning. 

New Zealand