THE DYING BOY

MATTHEW BRONSON. ARTIST. CURRENTLY DYING.

[tcmbarchived]

THIS BLOG IS ARCHIVED!

FIND XANDER, MATTHEW, & ZAHIRITH HERE:  TCMBSTONED !

[tcmbarchived]

THIS BLOG IS ARCHIVED!

FIND XANDER, MATTHEW, & ZAHIRITH HERE:  TCMBSTONED !

[tcmbarchived]

THIS BLOG IS ARCHIVED!

FIND XANDER, MATTHEW, & ZAHIRITH HERE:  TCMBSTONED !

[tcmbarchived]

THIS BLOG IS ARCHIVED!

FIND XANDER, MATTHEW, & ZAHIRITH HERE:  TCMBSTONED !

[tcmbarchived]

THIS BLOG IS ARCHIVED!

FIND XANDER, MATTHEW, & ZAHIRITH HERE:  TCMBSTONED !

[tcmbarchived]

THIS BLOG IS ARCHIVED!

FIND XANDER, MATTHEW, & ZAHIRITH HERE:  TCMBSTONED !

[ipsxm]

i would love to plot with people!

[ipsxm]

       MATTHEW BRONSON. ORIGINAL CHARACTER. EST. 2014. WRITTEN BY FORK.  

                                          A   WORK   OF   ART.

[ipsxm]

PLOTTING CALL!

[ipsxm]

do you ever just forget what your age is?

[mefjus]

[failgirls]

[musicwavves]

Visit Original Link

King Harvest — Dancing in the Moonlight

[journalofanobody]

Understand, I’ll slip quietly away from the noisy crowd when I see the pale stars rising, blooming, over the oaks. I’ll pursue solitary pathways through the pale twilit meadows, with only this one dream: You come too.

Rainer Marie Rilke, “Pathways”   (via journalofanobody)

[ipsxm]

UNKNOWN.

    heavy feet carry him forward, only a few careful steps, to make the artist out in the low light. his words roll over a moment; will to live, inspiration. here and now, they become i feel dead, this is mundane. sighs through the ache of it all, scanning his company with interest. “ what do you think you’ll find ?? “ a question jason isn’t sure about himself. all he knows is his body feels heavy, bruises and clots slumping him against the nearest wall. the solid brick offers him no comfort.

        ❝ I’M NOT EXACTLY SURE. ❞ which was the truth, he searches and searches but does not expect to find anything there --- perhaps that is what makes what he sees all the more beautiful. gaze flickers back to the other, studies the way his body moves and the clear ACHE in his shoulders. study lingers on the bat for a long moment before he finishes his drink and sets the glass next to his feet, looking up at the night sky. ❝ so are you going to tell me what’s with the bat, or am i going to have to guess? ❞

[coercing-moved]

you’re bleeding.

[ipsxm]

UNKNOWN.

    it’s hard to say, really. the past hour had been a blur, memory picky with pieces of him bashing. working. stained bat, so loyal to his work, settles upon his right shoulder, calloused fingers curled around in a loose grip. he’ll not fight conversation for now, won’t bother with the unimportant details. “ got too excited at a party. ” hums through it, voice like gravel after hours of disuse. it’s a struggle to keep from passing out. “ what are you doing out so late ?? “

        EYES NARROW FOR A brief moment, he’s not sure if he believes him --- but it wasn’t his place to make accusations. instead, the artist hums softly and takes another drink of the whiskey he had in his hand, relishes as the burn falls down his chest. sometimes something so small makes him feel so alive. ❝ sure. ❞ is his only response, a small smile curling at his lips. he looked like shit, much as matthew knew he appeared on many occasions. ❝ i am trying to find inspiration, grasp at the will to live --- you know, the usual. ❞