love is not lost.

drowning in beautiful words and unrequited feelings ; @unrosey

[dvoyd]

Tell me, father, which to ask forgiveness for: what I am, or what I’m not? Tell me, mother, which should I regret: what I became, or what I didn’t?

thoughts of a stray iii | m.a.w (via dvoyd)

[dvoyd]

we’re all killers. we’ve all killed parts of ourselves to survive. we’ve all got blood on our hands. something somewhere had to die so we could stay alive.

if memories could bleed, if dreams could scream | m.a.w (via dvoyd)

[dvoyd]

this   is   love,  you say,        slipping      bullets                past  my  lips           with  every  kiss.

isn’t  this  what  you          wanted   ━━

a   muzzle   between                your   teeth, gun      smoke        in                your    eyes,

the  taste     of  copper on   the                         tongue, the  smell  of        iron         in the air.

it  is  as  they  say; love  is  like              violence:

there  will  always  be blood  on  your  hands                 by  the  end.

—  cupid’s got a gun  //  m.a.w

[dvoyd]

“Once upon a time, I too believed in heroes,” he sighed. “I believed they existed, and I believed they could make a difference. I truly thought they were capable of saving us— from each other, and from ourselves.” “Why did you stop believing?” the little girl asked. “Because they didn’t save me.”

Nobody did. (Excerpt from “Fornever”) | m.a.w (via dvoyd)

[dvoyd]

ask yourself what you were. ask yourself what you wanted to be. ask yourself what you’ve become. now ask yourself: was it worth it?

all prices seem fair until you have to pay them | m.a.w (via dvoyd)

[dvoyd]

[weltenwellen]

Yves Olade, from "Liturgies"

[dvoyd]

you’re a dying thing that never quite dies. still desperate, still trying to keep going, to keep flying— to prove you’re alive.

the difference between surviving and living | m.a.w (via dvoyd)

[dvoyd]

I   hate   the   world —   for  no  reason  except that  it  makes  it  seem  as  though hate  is  the  only  option. —   for  it  is  both  the  means  and  the  ends, the  cause  and  the  effect, the  problem  and  the  solution. —   for  hate  is  the  answer  to  every  prayer when  God  isn't  listening, and  you’ve  stopped  wanting  him  to.

—  the universal language  //  m.a.w

[venettaoctavia]

You are shaking fists & trembling teeth. I know: You did not mean to be cruel. That does not mean you were kind.

Venetta Octavia, excerpt of “THE BURNING”, from my chapbook, “What We Left Behind” (via venettaoctavia)

[mythgrunge-deactivated20150420]

Tell me how it is, being the sun. You could walk into a room and they’d all be watching you. They’d all get down on their knees. I ask you how it is, and you say, “It hurts. It hurts.”

R. Wright; Sunlit  (via pukesea)

[saintshigaraki]

im so enamored with stories that portray love as something soft and kind because i do think that love at its core is an act of kindness. its part of the reason i prefer the idea of growing into love instead of falling in love because when i think of growing into love i think of a garden, like love is something to cultivate, to tend to daily, a steady progression of growth with some setbacks, a few dying leaves here and there, having to move to a bigger pot and a spot with more sunshine, but it’s still something that at the end of the month, or a year, or a decade, or a lifetime you can look at and see the product of your dedication, see exactly what it means to pour your heart into something. i just! love reading about kind love!

[propertiesofjoy]

james baldwin, just above my head

[vazakinada]

She keeps a knife close to her heart, ready to strike before anyone else does.

VàZaki Nada (via vazakinada)

[weusedtobegiants]

She looked at me. She said, ‘You’re no daughter of mine.’ It hardly mattered. It was too late for lines like that now. I had a language of my own and it wasn’t hers.

Jeanette Winterson, from Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal

[vegaofthelyre]

Girls like her, my grandfather once warned me, girls like her turn into women with eyes like bullet holes and mouths made of knives. They are always restless. They are always hungry. They are bad news. They will drink you down like a shot of whisky. Falling in love with them is like falling down a flight of stairs.

Black Heart by Holly Black (via caprxce)

[hush-syrup]

I’m on nobody’s side but my own. And if that sounds selfish, it’s because it is.

From Everville by Clive Barker (via hush-syrup)