The Latest
Dismantle the future, dimming down
The first born bubble of hope
One inhibition, one word of doubt
Painkillers wonβt do it.
Tranquility is not my que .
Even the most broken and tormented
Bleed too
𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟼, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹
[ID: June 6. We couldn’t bear it at home even a moment. We knew that they would look for us. But despite its being evening we ran away. Hills encircled our city; we clambered up them. We set all the trees to shaking as we swung down the slope from one to another. END ID]
(via habaebiti)
the beauty of not made acquaintance
you lash out soave words of not reachout
yet converse [in] mauve reenactments
everything will be spilled that’s certainno amount
of herbs
can conceal
your natural body [odour] sweet with
six crystals of salt: as you look awayfeeling my glance
on your nape humming fly me to the
moon the destitute relation of wordsswirls with the
washing machine
whiz
a floor down: all i end [up] with is your
glorious silence that craves to remainfamished
purposely
turning noir too ozark angelic but i can’t
let you heaven yourself: it cleaves whatshines through
you [your]
grief-wreath
falls: settles on my lonesome cornices
translucent behind clothesline and you[come] with my
caressing those
mysterious
manifestations
(via fantodsdhrit)
Some days donβt feel like the others.
Some nights are more prominent.
Letβs trick and forget all the bothers
Until weβre the ones dominant.
“The opposite of love is not hate; it’s indifference.”— Elie Wiesel