Back to Life @lyrically-saved-97 - Tumblr Blog

kaasbolletje

ashtonirwinofficial5sos-deactiv

Say it because you mean it. Not because you want something out of it.

imjust-a-girl

not-so-anonymous-wanderer-blog

My bar is set so low people in hell can’t even see it

ashtonirwinofficial5sos-deactiv

Kindness shouldn’t depend on your mood, how your day went, how somebody else treated you or for something in return. It should be a matter of being a decent human being, just because you love to see others happy and remind them: there is still good to be found in this world.

ashtonirwinofficial5sos-deactiv

It’s okay if people don’t understand who you are, at least you know who you are

1980vibes

juansendizon

sweetcherrylu

things each 5sos album reminds me of

somewhere new: awkward first kisses, nervous stuttering, cool nights, felt tip pens, knit blankets, dim lit rooms, warm coffee, cutoff jeans, worn out tshirts, chipped nail polish, cold kitchen tiles, chapped lips

5 seconds of summer: hot summer days, fast cars, flirting, makeout sessions, bonfires, first heartbreak, sneaking out, bottle caps, acoustic guitars, streetlights on an empty street, colorful beads, fireworks, fresh cut grass

livesos: sweat, guitar riffs, broken drum sticks, lightening, mosh pits, sore throats, cherry lollipops, smudged mascara, energy drinks, 24 hour drive thru’s, ripped holes in shirts, rubber bracelets, heavy breathing, warm beers

sounds good feels good: lilac, the sound of the ocean, silver coins, paint canvases, cloudy days, willow trees, soft pillows, speeding down the highway, skyscrapers, paying in change, laughing til you cry, deep colored sunsets, sprinklers

youngblood: hickeys, full moons, crowded clubs, vodka shots, cartilage piercings, black eyeliner, loud bass booming through speakers, heartburn, the lump in your throat before you cry, high heels, the smell of cigarettes, broken mirrors

iamhalseymusic

I am addicted to writing songs about things I hate. I find it nearly impossible to write about these things I obsess over. Which frustrates me into a worm hole of further obsession. Because I can’t write about 2 eyes the cold comfortable hue of a refrigerator light glowing in the temptation of a midnight snack. And how I rub your head with my finger tips and press my open palm against your skull like I could push right through the bone and grab a gushy handful of your brain and take a chunk of it home with me to devour later. In my underwear, off a plate, in that refrigerator light, like cold Chinese. So you grip my face and scold me for taking more than you wanted to give, and I can feel my smile rising and push my cheeks through your fingers like a handful of clay, malleable in your grasp. I’ll miss your lap and the heat the between my legs and showering off my sticky thighs in the quiet when I get home. And oh will I miss the stern, saccharin voice melting from your lips hovering over my open hungry mouth. My mouth that slams shut when asked to sing a word about you. Nobody deserves to hear my dirty words. Nobody deserves to know you like I do.

iamhalseymusic

My sweet love.

Lonely are the nights I lay awake in a bed alone whisked away from the love I was suckling from your lips only hours ago.

Whisked so fast from your warm embrace, enveloping my entirety (the same way your hot mouth wraps around my tongue).

What I’d give to have you leaning above me, propped up on your hands with your body stretched across the mattress like a highway overpass.

With your dark eyes glimmering like street lights on wet asphalt, and your hair swinging in your face like telephone wires.

You are an entire city.

The hum of your breath in your chest, like subway trains ripping through the underground. The rumble of your groan echoing from behind your ribs, shaking the grated sidewalks beneath my feet.

Your laughter, electrifying, like digital billboards and neon lights flashing back and forth across the skyline.

Your cry like emergency sirens fleeing through the streets.

And your beautiful mouth hanging open softly, The stark contrast to the sandpaper grin rising from your stubbly chin. Like a flower growing through cracks in the concrete, are your pink mouth and your chipped teeth. (I always loved those flowers the most. Because despite the obstacles, they simply had to grow! They demanded to exist! Like a pure smile on a sad face.)

I want to crawl inside your body and make a home there. Leave my things strewn across the floor, open the windows to let in the breeze, And throw myself down onto the sofa with a content sigh.

I love you tirelessly.

wnq-writers

No. I will not tell you to forgive and forget. hold onto grudges. Digest your broken wounds. Take all the time you need to heal. Because every wilting flower takes time to grow.

httpsraniasvibess (via wnq-writers)