The trouble is you think you have time. Buddha (via thelittlephilosopher)
✿ posted 2 hours ago - 353 notes - reblog ✿

i. 
tennis ball skies, loose 
elasticity. hallucinations 
haunt the marrow of 
those bounded.

strings of silver, seduce
and strangle.

ii.
the pendulum swings 
as lust turns to mud 
and we gracelessly, fall.

demi gods dance to the 
rhythm of capillaries whilst
hades summons our ghouls.

iii.
hanging men, lying on the
grass; burnt and haunted
by the stillness of their
memories.

cascade, inorganic the 
wind curls under the
skins of stillborns.

iv. 
fingernails scratch at
chalk and pull at eye 
lashes.

me trouver dans
cet ouraganJe vous
en prie

✿ posted 22 hours ago - 12 notes - reblog ✿

crumbling, lips move 
in slow motion as we
rest in the rot.

tumbling, melting at
the core, breathing
in the dust and

chaos.

excusez-moi
pouvez-vous
m’entendre
 

✿ posted 23 hours ago - 11 notes - reblog ✿
✿ posted 1 day ago - 7,402 notes - reblog ✿
People, I have discovered, are layers and layers of secrets. You believe you know them, that you understand them, but their motives are always hidden from you, buried in their own hearts. You will never know them, but sometimes you decide to trust them. Veronica Roth, Insurgent (via emporte-piece)
✿ posted 2 days ago - 51 notes - reblog ✿

Oh my, the girl is beautiful, yes. Fluid, creative with big blue eyes and the moving imagination of one of those left types. She moves like she knows the world and won’t tremble if she walks alone at three am. You can’t scare her with humanity or with the weapons they choose. She has seen too much for you. She lies with god and the devil in the same night, calling for amnesty. She doesn’t make a sound as she struggles for breath or is plunged into cold raindrops falling from a heavenless sky. The girl is beautiful, yes but she is fearless and that won’t get you anywhere.

✿ posted 2 days ago - 15 notes - reblog ✿
It will sometimes be necessary to choose between truth and justice. We should choose truth. Truth does not bring back the dead, but releases them from the silence. Jose Zalaquett, on the TRC in South Africa
✿ posted 4 days ago - 3 notes - reblog ✿

he keeps a toothbrush in my bathroom and socks in my piles of washing. he has a side of the bed and we lie on our backs talking about places that we’ll get married. we have little jokes and i know when he is lying. he can tell when i’m not me, when i’m absent and not even really here any more. we walk down the street holding hands and looking for each other when we go missing. i will cut him a key to my flat and i’ve made space in my wardrobe. we have a routine in the shower, and i always shampoo his hair before he washes mine, and definitely before we wash with soap. my bed feels too big for me now and my shower feels like an ocean pouring over me when he’s not here. i’ve found a home in his rib cage and within his ivory skin. soon we’ll keep our toothbrushes in our bathroom and we’ll put our socks together in piles. we’ll make a home within sheets and the trinkets we’ll buy. soon, we’ll make a home out of our fingers and call it ours.  

✿ posted 4 days ago - 20 notes - reblog ✿
thomas. thomas. thomas. can we keep them?

thomas. thomas. thomas. can we keep them?

✿ posted 4 days ago - 1,584 notes - reblog ✿
Art and love are the same thing: it’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you. chuck klosterman (via lungful) (via promiseskept) (via align) (via lovebot, lovebot) (via achoiceofthree, achoiceofthree)
✿ posted 4 days ago - Notes - reblog ✿
Powered by Tumblr :: Themed by Lipglossnluxury