| in war, there are no unwounded soldiers. |
trafficsmoke your cigarettes - burn your love down to the filter until the flame extinguishes itself, until your heart disintegrates, until the sunlight loses its final sparks and the sky finally goes black.traffic
(where is your flashlight when you need it?)
there is a weakness so strong you can wrap your arms around it with smothered cheeks and suffocated lips, with collapsed lungs weighed down with the possibility of purity flushed down the drain along with tortured sewage of the soul and particles of tangled string that held your faith together before your universe made of yarn and needles and fal
desaparecidosSatan is just as real as you or me, and the entire human history of sin and desire takes about ninety minutes to tell, but we don't have that kind of time. Just sit next to me, hold me, love me - even though we both know that this is not the right kind of love. This is not Casablanca love, or The Notebook love, or Paris Je T'aime love.desaparecidos
This is Abandonment love. This is Desperation love. This is the kind of love that kills.
I know you've died before - just once, though. Once when you tore your heart out and pinned it to your sleeve for everyone else to see, only the rest of th
topics of controversy1. The Death Penaltytopics of controversy
the past stepped on my dreams today. i stood and watched, empty handed, with a heart as open as the sky, and i couldn't save them - i didn't have a lifeboat or a bullet-proof vest or a rabbit-proof fence to save them. does that make me a murderer?
2. Global Warming
i am sick of your bullshit. stop hiding behind your ivory tower of illusory pain. i want to know the truth. if the truth is what sounds right, and beauty is what looks right, what is really "right"? there is this nagging voice in my head telling me "beware of symmetry. beware of light, because it blinds you. stay in the da
blitzkriega true friend stabs in the front, so why is my back covered in scar-tissue and nearly-forgotten wounds? why do i suffer from post-traumatic-stress syndrome of the soul?blitzkrieg
supermassive black holes just get bigger, you know. they say the earth has a definite volume, but an indefinite value. what do i have? i have a heart, among other useless organs. i have a brain, but most people just say it feels like spaghetti and takes up space that could be used for other (more important) things, like other people's opinions, or Nietzsche's quotes, or Shakespeare's plays, or scraps of what used to be my memories. &
lady baglady.she wears a dress that drools like old burlap down over the angry, bitter crescents of her sickle-sharp hipbones, catching on the loose wrinkles of sun-dried skin chafing beneath threadbare fabric and bruising her,lady baglady.
fragile flesh timid as flower petals.
her arm stretches out, skeleton fingers struggling to grasp the swollen red of apples,
the too-heavy plastic bags of cherries she eyes longingly while the half-dead muscles of her arms work like frayed wires, trembling beneath her skin, clawing and desperate to escape the cage of fifty years of cigarettes and self-loathing and fat that has never existed except in the
Playing Poorly MorninglyYou perfected the artPlaying Poorly Morningly
of playing the violin
badly enough that I learnt to love it.
Because at seven in the morning For five weeks
I woke to the sound of you.
up your headoften times, talking to a shrunken head just might be the case. expression features too big to be held. big eyes but you don’t see it. wide mouth but you can’t taste it. if everything fit on you in all the right ways, perfect wouldn’t have a name. i think, say, and mime these things. shrunken head, tiny, little ears. tiny, little, they hear me say nothing; they scramble the message and discount the meaning. how can you mark down a priceless thought? there are touch down moments when i believe i’m reversing some awful magic and something in your head is growing up to be the person i’m thinking and talking and miming abup your head
Prose Dump: Random Ramblings 1Buy A Vowel:Prose Dump: Random Ramblings 1
She leans her lithe body against the refrigerator, allowing her head to fall against the freezer. The Sesame Street magnets form a mark on the back of her neck. She holds her soda can like Audrey Hepburn holds a cigarette. Cool condensation freezes her fingertips. She takes a satisfying sip of her soda, pretending the carbonation is fireworks inside her mouth.
The apartment smells of chicken Ramen Noodles, stale popcorn, Febreze air spray, and Death. Death surrounded the apartment, a blanket t
| 17. Student. Writer. Realist. Dreamer. I don't know what kind of girl I am. Like most good people, I'll find a way to hurt the ones I love. There are some things I choose to forget. If I didn't think, I'd be much happier. Without music the world would be flat. All people are insane: they will do anything at any time, and God help anybody who looks for reasons. I visit reality, but only as a tourist. Words are never just words. We are dangerously close to wanting nothing. Sometimes it's about asking the right questions. We all change in our own pretty ways. It's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. Let's make better mistakes tomorrow. "Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly." - Neil Gaiman |
my college app essay...
Tired
Thanks a lot for the fav and watch
--
tamam.
--
[link] <- most annoying website in the world
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"People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing."
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Mad?
We're all mad here.
Proud member of ~SkyShelter && ~Dark-Wolf-Adoptables && ~Galatsu-Adoptions
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living for photography.
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