hello vonnie
Game of Thrones Daily
NASA
No title available
KIROKAZE
if i look back, i am lost
Andulka
shark vs the universe
JVL
Today's Document
@theartofmadeline
Xuebing Du
No title available
PR's Tumblrdome
oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
★
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
noise dept.
wallacepolsom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from Indonesia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from Sweden
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Venezuela
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@poetrybecomesher
I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine. -As You Like It III:v
I beg of you, do not love me
I am but a lie told on the lips of drinkers.
A sweet promise, edged in gin and
chased by whiskey. Do not pine
after my image, nor my manner for she is
naught but an illusion brought on by
the honeyed lip of a drunken chalice.
Join us, abandoned one.
Drink with the heartbroken, forgotten,
and the damned.
Crumble and collapse
for we are supernovas.
Turn off the lights and gasp into
the myriad of colours created on this,
the ancestral plane.
Leave your shame by the door
for this, my love, is a sacred space.
Sacrosanct are we,
forged in the fires of passion.
Aphrodite by her many names looks upon us
with fondness, my sweet.
As I find her salvation in your touch.
Blessed are we, by the tears of those
star-crossed lovers that came before.
I am a deeply delusional person but I think I have to be, to live in the chasm of my mind.
Chasing smoke-filled dreams
and goals sunk to the bottom of bottles,
here we stand. A broken choir
of fallen angels. Wicked saints.
All the gods turn their faces away
from our evil. They condemn their
own creation. Who gave them the right?
To give life to the devils within
while starving the saints?
All we wanted was to belong.
At times like this, I understand
Judas, Lucifer, Eve.
Why bother with veneration and
reverence towards a broken god,
when you can become them?
“In the middle of life, death comes
to take your measurements. The visit
is forgotten and life goes on. But the suit
is being sewn on the sly.”
Tomas Tranströmer, from “Black Postcards″, The Deleted World: Poems (versions by Robin Robertson, bilingual ed.)
A silken blouse and starched collar.
A satin shroud for the mourners pleasure.
A perfect fit for the one at rest
Sent away with a gentle kiss from Death.
The measurements taken in the midst of life
by a visiting tailor. The visit forgot, in the midst of strife,
but the suit, sewn on the sly,
ready for the moment I die.
When Death arrives to take my measure I will not weep, I will not whine. I’ll shake his icy hand with pleasure And bid him trade me at his leisure Six feet of earth, six feet of pine Against this weary soul of mine And keep my bones for buried treasure.
Tomas Tranströmer, from “Black Postcards″, The Deleted World: Poems (versions by Robin Robertson, bilingual ed.) [transcript in ALT]
Alain de Botton, Essays in Love [transcript in ALT]
I steer my leaky gondola to Hades And back again. Pandora steps aboard In purple robes; attended by her ladies She peels a grape with Damocles’s sword. My mythological infatuations, While entertaining, tend to end in tears. The days dissolve in hopeless situations; The sands of time come tumbling round my ears Like bricks and Death stands pointing at his watch. I kindly bid the shaking marksman ‘cheers.’ Pandora, I’m an awful waste of scotch!
— Tathève Simonyan, Colourless Musings
[text ID: In my corner of the world, killing is a love language.]
In my corner of the world,
killing is a love language.
It is a soft knife, cold and bloodless.
An accepted wound. A gift for the depraved
from the damned. Death, my darling,
is a friend, and welcomed to my door.
James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room
— The Door, Margaret Atwood
[text ID: Anyway my dearest one, / We still have the moon.]
Anyway my dearest one
We’ll always have the moon
Common folk can keep their sun
While lunatics commune
Coffee
160 ml of espresso
Brewed into a black girl.
Yearning to taste something other,
Than the heat of her bitterness.
Nothing sweet in the absence,
Of her sugar.
160 ml of milk
Change the fundamentals of her form.
After all, nothing about her is beautiful,
Unless she is made sweet and silent.
Turn her wrath into submission.
The phoenix must remain ashes.
2 tablespoons of sugar
Choke her with sweet nothings,
Until she becomes malleable to your,
Painful seductions.
Shift her from the platform of her being,
Give her nothing but an empty shell.
She must learn to fill it.
2 cups of ice
Extinguish her fire until only,
The ashes of her soul remain.
Show her that only the cold can warm.
Wrap her in ice until she is frostbitten.
Pain shall be her comfort for all her days.
Leave no embers in the hearth where Hestia sits.
Her heart must mirror Persephone’s.
2 tablespoons of caramel syrup
The hue of her must never fall below,
The desired.
Mahogany is still too dark.
We want the benefits without the black.
She must be lighter.
After all, her skin must be pale enough,
To reflect the insecurities.
Blend well and serve with whipped cream
After you have mixed her,
The cocktail of her destruction,
You hide the scars behind,
A façade of gorgeous.
She is sorrow
Her pain isn’t something you can illusion away.
She is the storm
Her galaxies collapse and crumble to create stars you couldn’t fathom.
She isn’t your cup of coffee
She can’t give you everything at the cost of her entirety.
She is but a girl
Coffee skinned girl,
Look not to boys with syrup sweet promises.
They lie for a little fix.
Most can’t handle the bite,
Of your caffeinated kiss.
They don’t understand,
How a girl could be so volatile yet at peace with her darkness.
They don’t understand you and your fires.
But soon they’ll see your worth.
After all, galaxies are only prettier at night.
Don’t hesitate - take every measure. Why dissipate your greatest treasure? Procrastinate in empty pleasure And learn to hate yourself at leisure.
Join the doers, not the dreamers Wake up now and do the stuff! Time is cruel to idle schemers Bringing nightmares soon enough.
“What is grief, if not love preserving?”
What is grief but love preserving
In our hearts the dear things gone?
Sweet relief of faith unswerving:
What departs will linger on.
#30 “there exists art in all hearts”
There exists art in
the expanse of my soul
clawing to escape.
