let all the poison that lurks in the mud hatch out @casthur - Tumblr Blog

I am made of bullets; shrapnel. You are solar flares and soft lips - better creatures could love you, I know. But now they’ll have to get through me.

my love should wear a warning sign, damn right I remember you |e.j.|

#when love is not madness it is not love #spilled ink

whisperthatruns

What was a god? A focus of belief. If people believed, a god began to grow. Feebly at first, but if the swamp taught anything, it taught patience. Anything could be the focus of a god. A handful of feathers with a red ribbon around them, a hat and coat on a couple of sticks…anything. Because when all people had was practically nothing, then anything could be almost everything.

Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad (HarperTorch, 2002)

#spilled ink #you will die in your sins

whenharrymetsallys

casil mcarthur for vagabond autumn/winter 2017

#dsjbhdsbfds #goals #Aesthetic

dvoyd

What separates the wolf from the sheep is not a matter of good or evil. We all have teeth— but only some of us are willing to use them.

you either bare your fangs or your throat | m.a.w (via dvoyd)

#spilled ink

glumshoe

October air is intoxicating. There’s a kind of manic energy to it that seeps into your skin - an invitation to use up the last of the year all at once, to salvage what you can before the frost claims it. October is the wind in your hair on a midnight stroll, running down the street with your head thrown back in wild laughter, hand-in-hand with a near-stranger.

#yusss #text post

halvedhab

you: why do you like alex ovechkin so much?

me:

you: holy shit

#:' ))#I love him #hockey

aerixi

#nature #!!!!

violentwavesofemotion-deactivat

He does not despise his suffering, but assumes the burden in all its fullness.

André Gide, from Essays; “Dostoevsky,”

#spilled ink

What a great night in hockey. :’ )

#nrambles #bless

talesofpassingtime

This is a very bad book you’re writing,” I said to myself behind my leaks. “I know,” I said. “You’re afraid you’ll kill yourself the way your mother did,” I said. “I know,” I said.

Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions

#spilled ink