めも_forEr0s/sin𝄞ngels

˙ᵕ˙

[mem0k00]

Added 3D sculpt to an Ai pic of me. Crazy

[mem0k00]

THUS, THE ARTISTS WHO CRAVED THE POET’S LIFE NOW LIVE AS GUTTED, EMACIATED BODIES, WITH NO VOICE LEFT TO SHOUT THAT REBELLION IS TODAY, LIKE SPOILED KIDS WITH ABUSIVE PARENTS. ALL YOU HAVE LEFT ARE SUBVERSIVE WORDS WRITTEN ON FILTHY, DESIGNER T-SHIRTS. YOU HAVE EVERYTHING SO WHY COMPLAIN ?

[mem0k00]

sea waves and snowflakes

[mem0k00]

coucou xD (*^^*)♡

Coucoute ! ♪( ´θ｀)ノ

[mem0k00]

>>> Back on track <<<

It’s so scary to write again after getting used to documenting every fragment of life through tweets or “pick-me” posts online. I missed blogging so much—it used to be a huge part of my routine before Facebook’s downfall. Facebook was for friends and people you actually knew, so you had to find another space to share your passions—like Skyblogs. Blogging was all about what you shared, the quality of it, and the dedication you put into it. Not about ourselves. Of course, we got bored of blogs when Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat took over. It became so easy and instant—no need to sit down, craft custom content that took hours of learning new skills, or wait for someone to engage with it. Social media combined everything: friends, feeds, news, internet connections, professional networks… But damn, communicating with so little in the middle of an endless storm of information is terrifying—and still is. Fake news, political appropriation, the lack of context—posting anything now feels like too much of a commitment. That’s why I love being back here, just sharing what I enjoy without subconsciously expecting anything. Just spontaneous posts, reblogs—public, yet so intimate. >>>

[mem0k00]

I’ve always had a fascination for wind turbines, ever since I was a kiddo. I’m still not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s because you never really expect them; they just appear, popping out of passing landscapes after long hours of driving. And they’re massive, yet somehow harmoniously embrace the power of the wind. Or perhaps it’s because they embody the perfect balance between nature and human technology, almost in a cyber-ethereal way. Not too destructive or invasive, they’re just there, patiently waiting for the wind to come. 🎼🗝️

[mem0k00]

When? When can I find the time to heal?

Let the arrow's rust contaminate every organ that I possess, and felt every seconds of it.

Only a fool cannot see the chasm of the rotten wound slicing through my chest. Nor can he muse that the impaled heart will never heal with time.

ᵀʰᵉ ⁱᵐᵖᵃˡᵉᵈ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵈⁱᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒᵗ ʰᵉᵃˡˢ,

ᵀʰᵉ ⁱᵐᵖᵃˡᵉᵈ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵈⁱᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵉᵃˡˢ.

It never scars, it never will.

Every time a drop of blood leaks from my heart I get omens of the last time I exhaled.

If time is no medicine, hand me a pen or a knife; I’ll vow to the Gods of Death to make me never forget a thing.

𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠.

I'll find a way, ᴵ'ˡˡ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵃ ʷᵃʸ.

[mem0k00]

encounters