STRUNG OUT

JES | 18 | MUSIC | POETRY | LACK OF MEMORY

[drop-dead-get-head]

Im so sick of losing real family. What the fuck happened to us, we were always happy, always together , always ready… What the fuck caught us off guard.

[blazepress]

These are pictures of different dried human tears. Grief, laughter, onion and change. Each type has a different chemical makeup which makes them appear different.

[fannytwaddle]

This is sick

[weloveshortvideos]

just a cat giving a presidential speech on ebola…

[castielsteenwolf]

IVE HAD A TUMBLR FOR 4 YEARS AND THIS IS THE BEST THING IVE EVER SEEN ON HERE I CANT BREATHE

[15th-october-deactivated2022082]

“There is a star made out of nothing but diamonds, it is 4,000 km across and has 10 billion trillion trillion carats. I need to remember that even 50 light years away from earth there is wonder and beauty. The sunlight we feel upon us today is 30,000 years old. We always have a part of the past with us. Those same rays of sunshine are touching you. You can’t tell me that isn’t beautiful. Did you know scientists discovered Saturn is so dense it could float in water? The planets density is 0.687 g/cm3 versus waters density of .998 Scientists have yet to discover why the sound of your voice causes me physical pain. A black hole cannot suck up all of the matter in the universe. The nearest black hole to Earth is 1,600 light years away. If a black hole can’t destroy the universe then I’ll be damned if I let you destroy me. The oldest galaxy is 700 million years old. There are roughly 500 billion galaxies in total. That is extraordinary, and it doesn’t even compare to your smile. Astronauts claim to see a rhythmic vibration coming from the earth, this is referred to as the Earths heart beat. For 4.54 billion years, the Earth has existed. 4.54 billion years of destruction, and there is still strength to keep going. I will not give up, I will keep going no matter how much you polluted my mind.”

— - you used to be my universe. (via healingx)

[bpieribeiro]

[s3x-appeal-blog1]

[thegirlwhocrieswolf]

[embarssinq]

“We are the suicide kids The generation between x and y Who saw the end of world but didn’t know what it meant Who have more slit wrists and psych appointments then opportunities I wish this was a brighter poem But we are the kids who hid from the abuse behind masks of false smiles We know how to work harder because we’re competing with people twice our age and skill And no matter how much training we can’t fix it There’s more drugs then hope And everyone knows a drug dealer, or 6 We are the abused that became abusers Giving each other mental scars I’m not sure will ever heal We are the kids who don’t know what’s behind the mask Because we never got a chance to explore I’m not blaming our parents They did the very best they could in a world that changed so drastically I can’t say I’d do it any different I tried to grab on to the remnants of what I thought our identity was But it got lost somewhere between the lines of the people we want to be and who we are A generation that’s so sick of having to carry knives and pepper spray Who know what it’s like to sit silent in a room full of predators We aren’t perfect But our killjoy noise stains the flag Most of us have fallen into some kind of hell We call it home easily Always know someone who lost their war We are comfortable at graveyards At ease in church halls from funerals Have a list of songs they can’t play anymore And maybe this time we’ll do better But this is all we’ve got”

— (via late-nights-and-daydreams)

[late-nights-and-daydreams]

We are the suicide kids The generation between x and y Who saw the end of world but didn’t know what it meant Who have more slit wrists and psych appointments then opportunities I wish this was a brighter poem But we are the kids who hid from the abuse behind masks of false smiles We know how to work harder because we’re competing with people twice our age and skill And no matter how much training we can’t fix it There’s more drugs then hope And everyone knows a drug dealer, or 6 We are the abused that became abusers Giving each other mental scars I’m not sure will ever heal We are the kids who don’t know what’s behind the mask Because we never got a chance to explore I’m not blaming our parents They did the very best they could in a world that changed so drastically I can’t say I’d do it any different I tried to grab on to the remnants of what I thought our identity was But it got lost somewhere between the lines of the people we want to be and who we are A generation that’s so sick of having to carry knives and pepper spray Who know what it’s like to sit silent in a room full of predators We aren’t perfect But our killjoy noise stains the flag Most of us have fallen into some kind of hell We call it home easily Always know someone who lost their war We are comfortable at graveyards At ease in church halls from funerals Have a list of songs they can’t play anymore And maybe this time we’ll do better But this is all we’ve got

(via late-nights-and-daydreams)

[flatsound]

Visit Original Link

[flatsound]

it’s been exactly one year since i wrote that first poem about you. i sat in bed and started thinking about what happened at sandy hook, and how fragile life is, and how much i wanted you in mine. when you read it you said you teared up and couldn’t believe whatever this was we found in each other. you called it indescribable. 

i lied in the same spot a year later with you beside me - emotionless. thinking about how i watched you change with every season. how spring turned into summer turned into autumn turned into winter. how the purity of something new became as hot as the persistent day as it rests too heavily on tired flowers, and how when that tiredness wins, they die like everything else.

i could feel my chest collapsing that night i sat in the stairway and read every word you had written to someone else while you were gone. how you teared up when you read the words he wrote to you, and how you couldn’t believe what you found. you even called it indescribable. now i can’t stop thinking about what those words might have been and how they compare to mine, i can’t sleep because i need to know what you found and if it feels anything like what i lost. 

i’m sorry if i’m so stuck in this. it’s just before you came along i spent four years with someone who would watch me watch the world but couldn’t hold my hand and see what i saw. someone who loved me so much but couldn’t understand how a human soul could mimic the seasons, or how a person can be fine for so long but wake up one morning wanting to die all over again. so when that feeling rises over the mountains all i ask of the world is that they greet it differently than pagans when they worship the sun.

i am old soil /

mixed with the compulsion to describe what used to grow here. to describe the indescribable sensation of life in a dying field. as if remembering the smell of your blossoms is the only thing keeping me alive.

[gay-cabin]

goddamit i still love this

[soncoya]

Well, if you had one phone call to make before you died, who would you call, what would you say, and why are you waiting?

Unknown (via

bluee-lion

)

“why are you waiting?” holy shit

(via ghosstprincesss)

[wnq-writers]

let me tell you something: no one is going to look at you, broken and shattered and think - damn, you are beautiful. no one is going to come pick up your broken pieces off the floor and assemble them into a beautiful whole. hell, you won’t even look at yourself and think - I made broken look beautiful. you know why? because all those writers lied to you. yes, all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and blood dripping down chins, pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you like hurricanes. liars. so you and i, we are going to make a plan. you are not going to romanticize days when your brain tells you to smash that mirror, you are not going to romanticize the lover who doesn’t understand you but still writes about you. here is what you are going to romanticize instead: you are going to romanticize the first day of spring, its gentle hands all over your body, lifting you up until you are as light as a feather. you are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love, no hurricanes, but sunshine that builds you up from within, that helps you make it through the worst days. you are going to romanticize gentle hands of a friend in yours, telling you that it is going to be okay. because it is. and don’t trust poets, we’re no good, we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount to a beautiful disaster, but in reality - there ain’t nothing beautiful about shaky hands holding a cigarette and empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls. you know what is beautiful, instead? the days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile, scars and all. music that makes your soul flow like a river, books that offer comfort, families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm, friends that give you strength when you can find none, lovers who make you laugh through tears. baby, from now on you are going to romanticize healing; honey dripping down your fingertips, August nights that stick to your skin, the day you find your purpose, long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now. bad news: no one is coming to save you. good news: you can save yourself.

Lana Rafaela (via wnq-writers)

[drop-dead-get-head]

Im so sick of losing real family. What the fuck happened to us, we were always happy, always together , always ready… What the fuck caught us off guard.

[delicatepoetry]

[gaysuggestions]

reminder: you are a whole person. others don’t complete you.

[heartbreakhur]

[perrfectly]