Hush, hush, hush, my wasted heart.


Dying like a shooting star.

You carry starlight in your wake.
Yet, we're all stories in the end.




Read the Printed Word!



Pockets full of stones.

1 2 3 4 5 +


it’s all about you. amy pond. mad, impossible, amy pond.






I’m a ghost
that everyone can see;


Franz Wright, Empty Stage (via rabbittongue)






I can feed the caterpillar, I can whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me.



Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
In 77 and 69 revolution was in the air
I was born too late into a world that doesn’t care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair



I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything,
couldn’t do it anyway,
just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made
any sense, anything.
And I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t sit still or fix things and I wake up and I
wake up and you’re still dead.


Richard Siken, from “Straw House, Straw Dog  (via mirroir)





arieefineart:

Web of Hurt by Ariee

arieefineart:

Web of Hurt by Ariee







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