[daughterofchaos]

[nebularae]

nature morte / photos not mine

[pintoras]

Mary Hiester Reid (American, 1854 - 1921): Still Life with Copper Pot and Roses (1890) (via Sotheby’s)

[helloplant]

[nymphei]

i am enveloped in the embrace of a silver-skinned god & the horizon vanishes, vanquished between the heavy mist of cloud and sea, and there’s no me out here where the only real one is you, my skin expands, becomes dim and disappears in a rainfall of stardust from stars unseen, i am unending by this murky ocean that streams up into your sky, into the clouds, and your presence is the air in my lungs and the color in my eyes, and i’m afraid if not for you i’d choke and go blind

@nymphei, for Zeus of mist and fog (via nymphei)

[the-wolvesallcry]

The Song of Achilles ↳ otp: swear it → patrochilles

“ I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world. ”

[admidala]

I. THE BIGGEST LIE YOU’VE EVER TOLD It starts like this: a dull roar. Everything is amplified,all freckles, all teeth. You look at him; the world forgets to turn. It’s hesitant at first, it’s not quite love, not even quite like. His hands jut out like something holy though, something you know you could revere. II. SECOND SECRET Dreams are tangible things, until they’re held in a palm. Unreality to reality. Maybe dreamers are weapons, but their dreams are not. Your sweetest ones are about fingers in mouths, kisses on cheeks. Your nightmares are about losing him, and a hand falling through yours, disappeared. III. TWO GODS IN THIS CHURCH Churches are meant for worship, so you kneel. Your mouth was destined for filth & curse words, but you pray, your voice soft against the stained-glass ceilings. You look at him; he looks back, eyes glancing off and away. You’d devour him if you could.(He thinks the same.) IV. THE OCEAN BURNED Here, the world stops. Dream comes alive, touch to touch, hand in hand, light alight. You hurl thoughts of happiness through your subconscious. You didn’t know you were capable of such a thing, but you are, and so is he. Here, the world is all light and love. Just mouths, no teeth. Just touch, no consequences. You fall asleep and for once, your dream is on the pillow next to you, both laid bare.

MAYBE I DREAMT YOU, A. M. Jarvis (via admidala)

[dyrkwyst]

Pizzo Scalino

[1995june]

Rather than a being of your own, you are an extension of the cosmos. There is stardust running through your veins and the surface of Mars is etched into forever into your skin. These stretch marks are the ripples of Jupiter rings and ivory plated bones swim in endless seas of plasma. The bottom of your tongue, or a sea of clouds and lost energies in the vast of starved nebulae. You do not bruise. You consume. You consume energy, all that is in your wake, like black holes, forever expanding, and never taking form.

The Human Body as the Universe by Nicole Moon (via 1995june)

[arrests]

Path of Figs, by Giulia Bianchi

2012

[calliophies]

mythology moodboard : angels

[lsleofskye]

[rejoiceful]

[svcredstars]

it is known that everything that exists, from these hands to the ground to the sky, is mostly empty space, orbiting bundles of chaos echoing around a dense core. this is how we are, this is how we always will be. we have felt this, when we lie on our beds and stare at the ceiling and let emptiness consume; we have felt this, when we try to hold each other, clasp our hands together, but feel nothing, nothing, nothing; this is how we are, this is how we always will be. really, we are held together by something less than a string, less than fate, less than anything, only a whim that something should exist here where there once was naught. really, we can never touch each other and be touched, because the deepest parts of ourselves are shut away in vacuum. i have never held you before in my life. this is how we are, this is how we always will be– empty. -emptiness, it not only consumes us but is what makes us | jocelyn

[shrinemaidens]

MYTHIC POETRY series:

There is nothing between us.[“Medusa” – Sylvia Plath]

[the-life--after]

Love by Marco Via Flickr: Cimitero Monumentale Milano in un giorno di pioggia

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