in words not spoken, in signs not expressed

secondary blog. posts poetry and aesthetics. pics not mine. all rights reserved.

[quoted-books]

I am nervous. I’m afraid. But I will stand here in the white hot heat of you. I will play Russian Roulette with your playlists. I will tell jokes I’m not sure you’ll find funny. I will hold on until there is no more reason to.  And in the end, I will break the stars and resurrect the sun.

pleasefindthis, I Wrote This For You (via quoted-books)

[ignitethecandles]

The night is young, but I don't think, I don't  see the reason of keep going My mind is crumbling into myself My head is soft, cotton candy melt My heart wouldn't beat the way I wanted it to behave Arrithmic, thought myself, congrats, Jan, you've gotten yourself a cardiac arrest.  There is no bridge I can lie myself on I can't even trust if the land is beneath me The sky is blue but I haven't seen outside the windows, y'know. Too afraid of what's looking back. (I don't even have control over my own body.) It's the sea that swallows me up.  Bottles of pain, pills of prescriptions what's the point of them to fight against the current? I don't want to see their faces. Can't bear the guilt.  Can't bear the thought of what I am going to do next.

j.t.h

[fyp-psychology]

We all walk among people in crisis and are unaware of their suffering.

Mary Pipher, Reviving Ophelia (via fyp-psychology)

[mountaineous]

The lonely trail |  Hanson Mao(毛延延)

[ignitethecandles]

We’ll Find Ourselves A Story

here i know how you would answer my call, the shape of your hands pressed in the back of my knees. here i am with the sharp edges of you in the

backyard, pulsing a gentle dream, hoping that someday, we'll be enough for the gods to please.

in another universe, i held your hand as they clawed inside your chest in between your ribcages, pulled your heart out as to kill what violet spark left in your

eyes. i held your hands again; i watched. i suppose there is no sin far greater than this.

but THIS IS FINE, i say, THIS IS GOOD, when the shade of your armor remains pinned on my back, shielding me from the heat of sun. it makes up for all the things

i didn't do and the things you let me get away. the sun flicks on the rosary you chained on my neck,

and god, i didn't know how you did it but you led me into my death sentence, i gave my name as choke-chain. in another universe, i didn't remember the shape of your hands.

in every universe, you will always have to bend your knees. in every universe, i wish you don't.

the sky is red in the universe where you sink your talons into my hips, feast on me, your teeth gnashing in my skin. no, i'm sorry, it's not always red. i found you near the river,

skin soaked from the gurgling rain, paper-like. i pulled you out, let you stay, then i served myself. there.

in another universe, the trees had to be plucked from the sky for me not to leave every people for you. this is why the gods didn't want our story. this is the mere roots of my love.

i have yet to find us a universe where we're always together but i'm always searching. and somehow, someday—

.

j.t.h

[ignitethecandles]

Countdown

iv.

so this is it. the beginning of end. from the countdown it's always been about this; the pull of fingers, the reek of gin, the flick of light quivering on steel. even the goddamned stench.

this is it; the signal we've looking for in the sky, searching. time's up. no takebacks. prepare for the lightsticks, the matches. prepare for the kerosene.

we've built ourselves a kingdom of paper cards, and now we're going to rule not as kings— no, we're walking in as arsonists.

iii.

perpetuators: your friends. crime: they're taking the body, now, covering it in white bone bed-sheet until the complimentary dye sets in. they leave you, the knife in your hand, your knees pressed on the dent of decrepit moss floor. you do not know what to say when they have come back, their hands black from grime, their nails fitted for dirt.

"we buried your dad on the backyard."

you do not know what to do with your mouth and hands and even if you learn now, silence already feels like scab wounds.

ii.

this is the second act of rebellion, the final countdown.

when they told you to stay, leave. when they asked you to hold on, don't.

near the beach the sky is an expanse of your playfield, especially when it's purple, plum-like. you can't stay; you've promised a lover's oath that you will make the sea your salvation. the freedom.

i.

tell them, when you tipped your body and let the cold waves swallow the froth of your transformation, did it feel like an embrace?

j.t.h

[ignitethecandles]

j.t.h

[quoted-books]

Man has gone out to explore other worlds and other civilizations without having explored his own labyrinth of dark passages and secret chambers, and without finding what lies behind doorways that he himself has sealed.

Stanislaw Lem, Solaris  (via quoted-books)

[midwinter-dream]

[lavendervalar]

D93/365 // November 1 credit🌙 (pls don’t delete)

~悲しくて 苦しくて 振り返れば 悲しすぎる夢の跡~

[vegaofthelyre]

The Mermaid Sets the Story Straight by Debra Cash

[colorfulgradients]

colorful gradient 23843

[tilly-and-her-books]

Do you like the colours of the sky? Book edition

[thinkingoflolita]

Oh my god. I tried arranging my books by colour once. Tried it by size. Tried it by book name or author name. I can never find the perfect system. But this is beautiful.

[tilly-and-her-books]

Who brought this photoset back…I thought my days of seeing this all throughout activity was over BUT ITS ALL RAINBOW AGAIN

[ignitethecandles]

at certain points in life, when the road hits a block or  just a pause by the remote control (and suddenly, the fog lifts) memories seep through your finger bleeding by the whorls of your skin- you grip and the hand is yours. your fists bursting, nails shoveling, lungs sigh with relief and the heart pumps again. i want to feel hungry in a way i never felt before. before this, before the churning of love. of anger. you wouldn't like what was before. wouldn't like the numb. rhythmic; stand in line sort of way. false yearning. days pass and sunsets with only gray as edges of rainbow. in the interim of abysmal nihility, there was just a stretch. and we're always freezing, thinning on with the false yearning. oh, no. it's nothing, of course. just the contort of your joints—felt it alien. lungs that wouldn't be yours, skin sagging and at the same time straining around your eyes. (there wouldn't be any bleeding only a systole that wouldn't beat.) appendix and bones, strangled together. cracking junctures of the tendons. in the abysmal nihility, there isn't a body that would be yours. not even mind. someone is always wearing your skin, making your body learn to live without you. and i'm so lucky. so lucky.

Abysmal, j.t.h

[ashendust]

I. “he will be a god.” “do you understand?” “yes.”yes. II. you are ephemeral; your life a fleeting flicker he is eternal; his lungs will draw breath eons after yours cease with a final shiver III. you are burning, burning, burning he is the fire that scorches your skin he is the cool water in which you swim your hands, blistered, reaching for the sun you will gladly turn to ash, to be his chosen one IV.  "what are you thinking about?“ you.  always. “nothing.” V. his golden hair, his shining smile, his lyre-like laugh this and this and this juggling figs, long summer swims, looking up to find his eyes fixed upon you this, and this, andthis VI. “do you want to be a god?” “not yet” VII. the fates will be cruel together, you will face misfortune after misfortune but: together even the fates cannot change that which is decided VIII. he is your reason you are his IX. you know him you will always know him by his breath as it stirs the air, by the soft padding of his feet upon the earth, by the quickening behind your ribs when his glance meets yours X. you will love him you will lose him you will follow him unto the ends of the earth it is certain

ten years in love; part I  (h.m.)

ten years in war; part II (coming soon)

all quoted sections from The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

(via ashendust)

[energy]

[goodquoteco]

There is something inexpressibly beautiful about the world when the sun begins to rise and fill the dim sky with soft rays of light and only the birds are awake to sing to you “good morning”, while everyone else is curled up in their beds, unaware of the magnificence they’re missing and everything feels so simple. It’s as if six a.m. is an epiphany that sparks at your fingertips and spreads until you are encompassed entirely by a feeling of clarity. There is something inexpressibly beautiful about being awake to behold the splendor of this world while everyone else is still asleep.

M.K (x)