kamcalste

remember the wild child she slept in this skin - breathed this air and tasted magic or madness or something kin. she was always the best at playing dead but maybe this time, she’s gone for real. I promised I would beg, borrow, or steal and now I’m sentenced to life in prison for chasing a cure for a wound that was never going to heal. the old, sacred words we used to know - by heart, by heartbeat, by heartbreak - have faded into fuzz, so, seeking stimulus, we sunk into the frozen depths of heartache we were always the worst at bringing out the best in each other and I think tomorrow, we’ll be better but the best parts w

I bathe in your        second-hand smoke as the night greets        the dwindling day. Cricket sings his        lonely song and I murmur you a lullaby of my day’s events and what tomorrow        might bring. The sun touches, then dips below         the tips of the mountains. Your fingers trace the curve        of        my        spine. Day shuts         her eyes and sleeps. (And I am yours. And you are mine.)

     The day was as hot as any in mid-July. The brilliant blue sky stretching endlessly above her head was beautiful, but she was beginning to wish some clouds would cover it and ease the baking heat. Matilda sat cross-legged on her porch, her back pressed against the screen door to avoid the sun creeping across the deck. She could feel her shirt clinging to her spine, soaked in sweat. She was wearing her favorite summer dress, the thin-strapped blue one that fell to mid-thigh. It made her look nice, sweet and unassuming, and better yet it was far more comfortable than jeans or shorts would be on a day like today. There was a faded, well-love

remember the wild child she slept in this skin - breathed this air and tasted magic or madness or something kin. she was always the best at playing dead but maybe this time, she’s gone for real. I promised I would beg, borrow, or steal and now I’m sentenced to life in prison for chasing a cure for a wound that was never going to heal. the old, sacred words we used to know - by heart, by heartbeat, by heartbreak - have faded into fuzz, so, seeking stimulus, we sunk into the frozen depths of heartache we were always the worst at bringing out the best in each other and I think tomorrow, we’ll be better but the best parts w

1::   Sunburned nap in the park, white chocolate mochas,         spicy ramen noodles, two friendship drumsticks,        shared iPod earbuds, meaningful movies,        eye contact communication, linked elbows down the hall,        and the bittersweet Ending Theme. 2::    Ke$ha's Cannibal, Dakota Fanning's Cherry Bomb,        confused navigations downtown, screamed pop lyrics,        slutty vampires, late-November rock concerts,        "glee" text messages, social worker aspirations,        and scathing, in-good-fun insults. 3::    Kindred spirits, head-butting mountain goats,        brutal-