AFlyOnTheWall

spilled ink

[a-fly-on-the-wall]

She plunged deep into my eyes,

& found a piece of me I buried deep inside.

[kafkasdiariies]

Giacobbe e l’angelo, c.1620. Stefano Maderno, Galleria Doria Pamphilj, Roma, Italia, src: Calogero Agrò

[stlowens]

Ada Limón, from “Dead Stars.” [ID in alt text]

[3y3]

[devils-queen]

✞ 666 ✞

[loveless-anime-deactivated20230]

[robinboardman]

“There is peace even in the storm” ― Vincent van Gogh

[mitskey]

—L.M. Montgomery, Anne of The Island/ Louisa May Alcott, Little Women/ Unknown/ John Keats, To The Ladies Who Saw Me Crowned/ Anne Sexton, Suicide Note: The Complete Poems/ Irish Murdoch, The Italian Girls/ Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath/ Anne Sexton, The Truth the Dead Know/ Virginia Woolf, The Waves/ Pablo Neruda, One Hundred Sonnets

[quotemadness]

“Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.”

— Sylvia Plath

[llovelymoonn]

Keep reading

[a-fly-on-the-wall]

🦴

[oldwinesoul]

“But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?”

—Mark Twain

[metamorphesque]

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[text ID: I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.]

[a-fly-on-the-wall]

#SylviaPlath is my mom. 🖤

[a-fly-on-the-wall]

🧳

[a-fly-on-the-wall]

[a-fly-on-the-wall]

Simplicity Is A Symphony Of Subtle Symmetry. Finding True Peace Among The Little Things.

[poems-and-word]

Poems & Words

[a-fly-on-the-wall]

Sam & Susie were up to no good when they wandered deep into the woods,

You’d think by now they’d both know better, from fables they were told together.

Sure enough, nestled ‘neath the forrest’s blouse, rest a worn down cottage house.

Chimney smoke filled the foggy air, a woman by the door with a piercing stare.

Her voice soothing and enticing, her tone ever so inviting,

lured Sam & Susie deep within, inside the cottage house of sin.

She said “My Forrest is for lost boys and girls, the lost boys and girls all over the world.”

She said “You’re just in time for stew, and in luck, I’ve room for two.”

Before Sam and Susie knew, they found themselves boiling in a witch’s brew.