Kill the part of you that believes it can’t survive without someone else.

Start with the hands.
The feeble way they shake holding your morning coffee,
the way they did his dishes, his laundry, so willingly.
How they itch from the want of undressing his memory.
All lonely. All empty - you.

Cut them off.

Undo the trembling in your knees
when you licked the blood from his lips;
Undo the weakness in your feet
when he stole the breath in your lungs.

Stand the fuck up.

Go for the stomach.
Destroy the butterflies giving you
sleepless nights and make a painting
out of their corpses’ wings.

Spit him out.

You can eat fire if you want to.
Do not let his absence take away your magic.
You are not hard to love if you can love yourself
and no one has the authority to break you
except you.

You are a calamity, you are a force of nature,
and there is thunder crackling in your veins.
Can you hear it? This is your funeral song.

Now, burn -



Sade Andria Zabala (surfandwrite) | Phoenix

When you rise from the ashes, STAND ALONE. 

Click here to buy my poetry book, Coffee and Cigarettes.

(via surfandwrite)

(Source: surfandwrite, via prettyhandsomeawkard)



R.I.P. The 2976 American people that lost their lives on 9/11 and R.I.P. the 48,644 Afghan and 1,690,903 Iraqi and 35000 Pakistani people that paid the ultimate price for a crime they did not commit

this is the only september 11th post I’m reblogging

(via twerkarella)

I don’t really know what caused me to act on such impulses.
I could blame it on the moon’s size and the supremacy of the night, but it wasn’t that.
I’m not really lonely so using that as an excuse is senseless.
I was just…interested. I guess that would be the word used to describe the moment.
I could say that there was a sentiment there, but there wasn’t.
It was stupid, for lack of better word.
But stupidity is usually what sparks my nights of indecision.
It was a want that was out of reach for a long while, and there it was.
Right in front of me.
Who could blame me?