“We Keep Wasting Away, Whiling Away Our Days, Chasing What? Fame? Fortune? Those Might Not Last, Darling.

I don’t love you anymore. 

-

I don’t love you anymore, 

But

-

There are days I wake up and I think I feel your arms around me 

And my lungs

Ache like I haven’t taken in enough air. 

-

There are days where I turn

with your name on my lips 

And there is nothing there, only empty air,

Dust motes and smoke. 

-

I don’t love you anymore, 

but

-

It’s been so long since I was alone, 

I’d forgotten the way loneliness tastes like regret 

when you’ve drunk enough of it. 

-

—y.c.

Bastard,

they called you

As if the lack of father is a curse

(It is not)

Murderer,

they called you

As if the ones you killed deserved any less

(They did not)

Darling,

she called you

As if her gentle words would be enough to save you

(They were not)

Cursed,

you call yourself

What do they know,

of broken souls and

breaking hearts

mothered by a broken promise and

sired from a broken vow

(Nothing. They know nothing.)

— y.c.

We are home.

No, we are not all in the same house

the same city

No, we don’t all go home to peace

but we are home.

Words cannot abandon us

Hope cannot fade so long as we keep

Holding

On

so

Hold

On

Home isn’t always where the heart is

Sometimes

All it is

is a pen

paper

poems

But it doesn’t matter

Home is what you make it even when you’re not

making it so

take a deep breath

Look around you.

No matter where you are now

One day, I promise you:

We will be home.

— y.c.

I found a drawer of letters the other day.

All of them addressed to me

All of them an

apology.

They went back

three months when

we only been together for

two

Did you know,

even then,

that you loved me?

And did you know,

even then,

that we wouldn’t make it?

The letters say y e s .

I wish they’d said n o

instead.

— Yushan C.

We make gods out of sinners and altars

Out of gutters. We bow, 

Heads down in silent reverence,

To fools who beat back the nonbelievers with

violent and wrath and the pious

Call it righteous.

The gutters birth no good saviours; these

streets 

Vanquish purity the way Heracles vanquished

the lion and Perseus vanquished the

serpent but they had gods on their side 

And we have only demons.

—modern sins equate salvation (y.c.)

this has 100% been talked about before but younger members of the lgbt community (especially on tumblr) NEED to understand that “gay panic” doesn’t mean “oh no i’m a teen panicking because i might be gay” it means “literal legal defense used in cases where a person has murdered someone upon finding out they were gay”

There is beauty 

in the silence, in the stillness, in the gone-ness.

In the dripping water casting ripples in puddle—

who is left to see it?

In the soundless streets—

who is left to hear it?

-

There is beauty

in the empty, in the quiet, in the ghosts.

In the burning lights, haloes silver and rose—

who is left to see?

In the winding roads, snow pristine and clear—

who is left?

-

There is beauty 

in the dark, in the soft, in the peace. 

Silence is a commodity rarely found and never sought, 

An extinct creature killed by advancing times. 

There is beauty in its return; 

There is beauty in its resurrection.

-

(who is left to hear?)

-

—beauty in a time of mourning (y.c.)