if we were birds

"Give, but give until it hurts." aster. 23. a healing touch. altered.

[katsmoving]

moons don’t fall in love with stars, only stars fall, and when they fall, they burn.

i will burn over and over again for you // k.s. (via worthystevie)

[mwxyixing]

“You want me to use your real name? ”

if this was somewhere else, anywhere else, perhaps you would have given in to the desire to trace the contours of her face with your thumb. but there are appropriate times and appropriate places where such things take place, followed by proper consent. so you swallow it down and force a smile, trying to read the nuances in her expression or repeat her question for hints from her tone. 

you come up with nothing. biases are hard wired in brains and you are only human. 

“if it is you,” you allow, “please.” you let the last word carry the most weight as eyes close in the semblance of prayer.

[mwxyixing]

"Remember your true self."

i. 

flowers are destined for a shortened life, the only destiny is to maintain its beauty and attract pollinators. flowers, for the most part, are gentle. you thumb over the purple petals. it is no buttercup. digestion doesn’t cause nausea ; harmless. you twirl it once in your fingers before it falls. dust the dirt off your pants before you smile and say: 

“i won’t forget.” 

he wants the venom to run in your veins, a touch to bring about skin irritation, but a flower’s nature is not so easily altered. you won’t give in so easily. 

ii. 

to save a life you must harm a life - law of equivalent exchange or something. or maybe it is just a sadist’s terms. either way the damage is done. you watch your victim clutch his chest and you know what you’ve done. it was aconite coated, beginning to heal  when you sported it but the choice to force it upon another human being. 

poison is active, cardiac irregularities are bound to set in. arrow poison you think you hear his sharp laughter and his pleased tone. 

the blade is still strapped to your leg. the victim falls. you dwell not upon the liberation when the wound was lifted from your skin nor upon how you could have easily taken it back. you remind yourself that this was to save a friend but doctors shouldn’t have such distinctions ( you are no longer one anyways ). 

memories serve as reminders, forgive me becomes a mantra, i won’t do it again becomes a promise. but blights begin with a pathogen and chlorosis is about to set in. 

iii. 

he’s coughing you note out of boredom, crouched by his side as you observe. people should be more merciful when dealing with death. isn’t a fatal blow better than a dragged out death? but all opinions are subjective. 

“are you going to finish me off?” he asks between labored breaths and you smile, palms open as if to appease him. 

“i can heal, but what can you do for me?” almost disregarding what he has to say. there’s a laugh or maybe another cough, not that you care enough to distinguish. this is taking way too long. “wolfsbane,” you explain as you wave the dagger back and forth, “it won’t be pretty.” 

and who are you to blame when his powers aren’t what you are looking for. you only gave him the merciful death he deserved. 

there’s a voice in your head that tells you to remember your true self. it is a very nice voice. pretty even. you think you can visualize soft lips and raven hair but it disappears as soon as it comes. 

“true self?” you ask echo when you stare down into the pool of water. “i don’t remember what i look like anymore.” you think you smile but you can’t feel it. there is no cure for a blight like this.

[ellellusive-blog]

For a star to be born there is one thing that must happen. A nebula must collapse. So collapse. Crumble. Because this is not your destruction. This is your birth.

[bernybro-blog]

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Y Si Fuera Ella - SHINee

[absentions]

You go to sleep alone and wake up next to an empty space. You stare blankly at the ceiling, wondering where it all went wrong. So this is how to miss someone. This is how to ache until you forget how to be human. There are no tears, nothing but your breaths breaking the silence in a vacant room and you realize that your bed is too big for just one person.

Tina Tran

, Each day passes the same way (via absentions)

[mwxyixing]

親愛的（這不是愛情）

有一個人能去愛 多珍貴

they say memory are just constructs and i suppose it is true. has to be. because despite how desperately i crane my neck, i can’t see past the limbs — i can’t remember anything spare for moments and i’m drowning.

there are hands — strong, warm — against my spine, sliding past the scapula and the elbow to straighten arms and correct posture. i smile, the mirror captures it. i don’t know if you do. i can’t see past your neck. doesn’t matter. what matters is how the practice room was void of music and the rate of my heart was audible enough that it probably served as the audio track we danced to. 

fingers — long and thin — beautiful, i remember remarking. or maybe i kept it to myself. we were still young or rather what we had between us was still young ; barely able to be transplanted, barely able to give it a name. but my hand was in yours and you tugged me along. i remember you laughing. i can’t remember what it sounds like, can’t even describe the quality of your voice. all i remember is how it sent shivers down my spine. look, there it is: goosebumps on my skin and the second of silence before i throw my head back and laugh to harmonize with yours. if this isn’t love i don’t know what is. 

there was latte froth on your lips and i suddenly forgot what we were talking about. for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. i know i’m using it in the wrong context but forgive me because it was only natural i wiped it away for you… with my thumb… licking it clean. i was curious about your coffee and how it tasted in comparison to my tea. ( the fact that i dislike coffee is not a factor in this conversation ) there were people around us. your eyes widened by a fraction more than i expected it would. if it was somewhere else perhaps i would have renacted a scene from a drama. but this action, in of itself, was daring enough. then you smiled and i forgot to fret. i wish you weren’t sitting under direct sunlight. it eclipses your face and i can’t see anything past the curve of your lips. 

two bicycles leaning against a tree in the park and the owners sprawled out on the grass nearby with fingers almost interlocked ; earphones split between two individuals on a bus, a whispered conversation with foreheads unnecessarily close and a thumb that selects the next song both of them love ; thudding bass that livens the practice room and moves so synchronized it has one wondering if their breaths were as well ( they are ) ; fingers pliant as the packet of ice is pressed against skin, eyes watching for contortions in the other’s expression and worry is worn on the heart ; two elongated shadows, walking during the golden hours of the evening, hand in hand ; lazy sunday mornings and molten gold spilling forth over milky skin marred by red little bruises and lips almost smug as they whisper good morning ; shaving cream ; dental hygiene ; matching mugs ; two pairs of slippers by the door ; copied keys ; memorized passwords ; an umbrella sheltering two ; cooking experiments ; midnight drinking ; borrowing leotards and then sneakers ; fixing ties ; back massages ; bouquets after performances ; shared popcorn ; new years fireworks ; healing sprains ; carrying pain 

yellowed, scattered ; frenzied as i try to pick them up.

yet as i suffer under the weight of these memories what escapes is you — your name, your face, i can’t even remember your gender. not that it matters but there’s nothing, nothing at all except the word you or the dancer. 

but perhaps it is better this way. i would be less inclined to hold onto what could never be — try to find a way to escape and forget how to survive or to be so desperate to return to your side that i lose myself in the process. instead, i am allowed to love — to attribute these emotions to other humans, to love more in your place. 

perhaps it is fortunate that you are nothing but a concept — like the dance we both know and love. or rather, you are the embodiment of dance itself. at least, in this way, it is more than just another memory. at least, if it remains like this, i’ll be eternally in love. albeit in a different way than you are used to but the quality is still the same.

i’m trying to love you in a way i understand. please forgive me. but isn’t having someone to love something precious in of itself? it is, after all, what makes us human.

[kisswithpoison-gone-deactivated]

Silent Hill 3 Memes.

[derrisive-deactivated20151110]

kisswithpoison:

“It was just a bad dream.”

“You know, you might die too…”

“I’m not a child, you know”

“Is every person here a mental case?”

“It’s not my birthday!”

“I don’t like mirrors.”

“Just don’t die.”

“Suffering is a fact of life.Either you learn how to deal with that or you go under. ”

“Who wrote this? Some twisted indiviual, huh.”

“That’s the murderer’s name.”

Keep reading

[mwxyixing]

hello everyone. this is the worst of the worst speaking. i apologize for not introducing myself sooner or greeting the new members. between studying for the mcat and entertaining grandparents, time allotted for this has been few and far in between. it probably won't be a week before i pick up my slack. i'll get to inbox messages as soon as possible weeps. *pinky promises*

this is the messiest self introduction i have ever made. but anyways, if one doesn't feel like waiting for replies, hit me up on aim! i'm sorry to subject everyone to my worst writing yet (a thousand apologies to yixing because i'm not doing this sweetheart any justice orz).

ah right! where are my manners. the name's kuro and im pleased to meet you all.

[larmoyante]

‘Forests have secrets,’ he said gently. ‘It’s practically what they’re for. To hide things. To separate one world from another.’

Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless (via larmoyante)

[mwxyixing]

what we buried ft. rei

the rustle of leaves catch your attention, unnatural the way it settles back untouched. it could mean many things, perhaps a speedster amidst the contestants but you hope otherwise. instincts urge you to follow, so you do.

a small clearing, a blur of colors, the sway of branches, and then a familiar figure unsteady on her feet. she falls and you rush to meet her, collecting her in your arms and moving her to somewhere red targets aren’t painted on your backs. fingers comb through hair and a soft rei escapes from your lips.

it's déjà vu.

once upon a time, arcade (or rather his underling) had told you to collect her before she injured herself and others — before she was neutralized. you caught her then, without hesitance. an injury to the cranium is not desirable (headaches would follow for days if you healed it for her) and you did not wish to harm one of your own. you anticipated a lot: the lack of trust, the doubtful glances, wariness with every word you said. you could be just another one of arcade's pawns and perhaps you were (he knew how to make you move; he still does).

language failed you. you expected as much, words still foreign and heavy on your tongue, words strung together awkwardly to form a semblance of a sentence, praying she would be able to understand some of it. in the end, you chose to take her hand and draw a character in it: 人. human you said, hoping she would understand. freedom from bars and glances that deemed her to be a creature, a promise of a friend — as long as she didn't lose control again.

you don't tell her how the same word underneath the character and a almost closed box turns it into the letter for meat (肉). you don't tell her many things. you don't need to.

when she comes to, there's still that smile of yours fastened to your face. fingers tracing the same letter in her palm again and again, plaint as you hope your lap wasn't a terrible pillow for your friend.

[giri-boo-deactivated20150919]

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[tao-ah]

                      Success isn’t measured by money or power or social rank.                        Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. 

[mwxyixing]

beginning of the end

deafening — the lack of human conversation, whispers in the hall, discussions over your body as if you didn’t understand a word they said. ( you did. perhaps in another life you would be in their shoes experimenting upon your kind. ) instead, you were now engulfed by rustling leaves and cicadas in the summer heat. there’s a bag near your foot where you began to rummage through its contents, glancing over your shoulder occasionally just in case. friend or foe is always a coin toss and you would like to last longer than a day.

a blanket, water bottles, dried packages of food, and a small first aid kit. a smile finds its way to your lips. he’s still the same as ever — that sadistic bastard — wanting individuals to last long enough to pay his investment back in terms of entertainment. and you are just one of them.

fingers scrape the bottom of the bag to double check that you’ve accounted for everything only to hit a small pouch. upon opening, it reveals itself to be a small surgical kit — two types of scalpels, four types of scissors, two types of forceps, and one probe.

you don’t recall when your fingers start shaking but the surgery pack drops back into the bag. the overwhelming scent of antiseptics; glazed eyes of the patient before you; bright lights and a copper taste; murderer, murderer, murderer they chant; and your name stitched on your chest exudes nothing but shame.

a folded sheet of paper that accompanies the kit reads:

i hope this will be of use to you, my star.

he’s mocking you, probably laughing at the emotional peaks the microchip documents.

you once argued that your name was so hard to learn to write and mother said that the beauty of it lied in how different words sound the same. [ 興 and 心 (heart) and 星 (star) ]

pick a letter, choose a name:

the fault, dear brutus, lies not in the stars but in ourselves, that we are underlings.

pick a name, choose it fast.

aster (n.) greek for star ( from latin: the suffix indicates imperfect resemblance )

[mwxyixing]

papier-mâché

tell me, what do you see in me?

official records say male, chinese, blood type A, 179 cm, 60kg, and a donor. there’s a collective of personality tests that states INFP, enneatype 2, and then goes on to detail the level of health — big and little things that are about me but don’t feel like it. 

i only know all of this because i am stranded in a prison, on an island, too far from home. the proper term is correction facility but i feel less like a human being and more like a lab rat, so you’ll have to excuse me. 

i wonder what you would say if you learned that i don’t heal. or rather, i don’t have the capacity to heal others. just myself. i can transfer someone else’s wounds onto myself in the guise of healing them but i can’t direct this at others. such a selfish ability and rightfully so. you see, i’ve come to realize that this drive to help others was less out of the kindness of my own heart and more out of wishing to please you. i only wanted your praise, a pat on the head, a hug like so many other children experience. was that too much to ask for? 

i'm not what you make me to be. i suppose you aren’t either. 

the night i was convicted of medical malpractice and written off as a mutant with toxikinesis, i waited. there were a myriad of scars that once riddled my skin and i waited for one of them to step forward and speak upon my behalf. after all, i had carried their burdens with my body when you asked. i only wished for a simple correction: toxikinesis to healing. was that too much to ask for? 

raw skin after the lick of fire still throbs on fingers, a fracture to a bone still embedded in my hand, a cut to the fingers still imprinted in my thumb. i thought, at the very least, you would say something for your only son.

i waited and i waited,                                                                       but you never came. 

some nights i sit here and wonder if i had disgraced the family, explaining the lack of your arrival; other nights i debate who is more at fault. 

i’m not writing this out of bitterness or resentment but out of curiosity and last filial duties. i suppose this would seem to be a waste to others, a last letter to a mother who doesn’t care enough, but it is only respect — you had the right to know how much of a failure i turned out to be. i’m sorry. 

張藝興 敬上

[padampadamn]

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“I wish the frozen love will melt away now.”

[idktorn]