the drains of heaven

[achills-deactivated20160908]

boy, oh boy does smoke make you breathe? when your lungs are doused in adrenaline does it make you feel? (yes or no?)

lost boy, are you found ? | a.s.

[icarusdreamed]

&&. @foreveryoungtate​

           1-2-3-4-5 // 5-4-3-2-1. COUNT YOUR FINGERS // SREGNIF RUOY TNUOC. it wasn’t quite the eldritch landscape he’d envisioned ; paperwork where he’d imagined test tubes, peeling browns instead of carmine stained whites. asylums were losing their edge, it seemed. ❛ erm, hey. ANOTHER loony, eh ? ❜ he knew the boy’s type, he lived in the same ethanol-sweat & parchment-thin skin. he’d earned identical glances from voracious adults as they vowed to pick the shrapnel ( her shrapnel ) from his flesh —— even as they tugged their marionette strings, sinking barbs into his mind. ❛ whatcha in here for ? ANOTHER case of the glorious family unit gone horribly wrong ? ❜ beneath the galaxies of carnivorous freckles he’d etched an smirk. they’d need to be allies, it seemed, as they began their descent down this analgesic rabbit hole. for they were ten & too young to be so bedeviled... 

[lord-dubba]

[themajesticowl-deactivated20180]

My father broke my heart long before any boy had the chance to.

(via foxrps)

[torple-deactivated20190911]

for what has been done cannot be undone in the evil’s heart in the evil’s soul

[aseaofquotes]

[capgal-deactivated20190912]

His is not a blessed name. There is blood in his footsteps; There are ghosts in his breath. His scars chart no constellations; His voice speaks no prayers. His fingers hold guns, not caresses; His lips form screams, not kisses. But I feel sunlight in the warmth of his skin and trace mountains in the peaks of his spine. His lungs breathe my name with his winter; His bones carry my touch with his sins. And I find peace in his war. I find home in his exile. This is not a sacred love.

keep your angels and your heaven; I love a damned boy, and he loves me (j.p.)