N.

I love my love. . instagram.com/rivxnsj?igsh=Z2tndWx4bWNvcm5y

[rivxrn]

But what can I do, my love? for my love incarnates in tears of slow sorrows. For you will imprison me alike to fire to paper; burning me with the fury you hold so preciously in your unforgiving heart.

My love, I know your hands are running as cold as they once were in that summer of February. But my body burns as hot as the sides of your neck.

[rivxrn]

"I'm just tryna keep my love alive With my bartender, hold me all night Bartender, our love's alive Baby, remember, I'm not drinkin' wine But that Cherry Coke you serve is fine And our love's sweet enough on the vine"

[rivxrn]

Monotone wind. My hands never wait still enough to love her in a stable sense. they shake just enough for her heart to consider me adoring when I unfold my eyes upon her beauty. in the same way I hold the soft tremors of her skin, and I give her nothing, nothing in the embraces that I never could give to her through every meter, every mile. I thread satin stitches onto my flesh and her heart one too many threads turn over each other but they tighten delicately. And our bodies may share a kiss from afar. Through this night in the monotonous wind.

[rivxrn]

revival?

been thinking about this a bit lately, this account is pretty old and my writing has (I think) improved a lot from when I was 14 (I'm 17 now)and I'm thinking of bringing this back from the grave.

[rivxrn]

i came from your super popular uquiz. (shocking i know)

i just wanted to say thank you. i was feeling really bad (and honestly still do) but you provided just the right place to vent a bit. i don't know if you'll see this or what i wrote there, i just want to say thanks.

there's still hope

-Metafloria (aka GlimmeringBlade)

my god! im glad you found a place to feel that comfort in your soul and I hope that whatever it is that bothers you you will get past it like a surfer in the ocean :)

I never expected so many people to even find the oddly worded quiz i made when i was 14 but im glad it makes you all feel safe.

[machetebunny]

stephanie putty clay figure i made :] will upload some more pics soon! i love her she’s one of my faves

[rivxrn]

and hey I also draw (follow my Instagram)

[rivxrn]

pigeon.

I cannot write as though I a pigeon, I write as though I am snow melting beneath trees and stirred with mud. My hands move like a pianist whilst he notes down the song with his ink– the paper never torn, his hands never tired. Am I to suffer the same fate as the spider that mistakenly crawled up my calves? Is that really what life offers me?.

I can't explain my feelings to anyone, or anything– to my books, to my pages, to my dog of 4 years or the spider that stands in the cup yet to be put outside.

The feeling is inevitable, an emptiness you can’t quite explain. It grows with you, small as a child your innocence makes it hard to notice but soon enough, it flies to your brain as though it were that of a messenger.

I wish a lot of things particularly, I wish I just simply put– never grew up.

It always felt like a punch to my gut every time I had to blow out the candles.

Every single time– every year you just have more responsibilities to take care of. I often feel as though I have fallen behind everyone in my life.

Often I struggle to even understand what I need or want in life.

I want a lot.

I want to be a thriving sunflower in spring

I want to be the blazing sun of summer

The persistent rainclouds

I want to be anything

I never could be.

[rivxrn]

no one would've cared if he wasn't a politician btw

[rivxrn]

Our drinks may last a whole summer

Rotting on the table quietly.

Our drinks may last a whole summer (not survive,that would be absurd)

Our drinks may last a whole summer 

The rains fill the glass again, cleansing its remains.

That is, if it rains.

[rivxrn]

annnndddd thats korosu :)

very hard game ngl i wanna make fanart ong

HEAVY ON THE STORYLINEEEE

[rivxrn]

Our bodies are nothing but clay,

sculpted into flesh by the hands we walk on,

by the dirt that stains our shoes.

We are dirty, we are not pure.

Our veins flow crimson,

our hands bear the guilt of greed

that leaves its traces in our pores.

My heart is sculpted,

I view no pride,

my eyes—crooked,

I see no feeling.

We are mud, shaped to be unholy,

shaped by our love, greed, blood, and bones.

My hands link to creation,

akin to the parasites I failed to escape.

My body is to be sculpted.

[rivxrn]

Apollo clutched my hand when you allured me to you.

His hands were stained with art, burned to hold.

He said, "Poetry will fail you. You could never write enough."

It will be religion.

He said, "Love stains like wine for others, but this will stain like blood."

The sun will shine brighter than ever.

It will be religion.

She will be religion.

[rivxrn]

do u fw ts

[rivxrn]

[weltenwellen]

Joy Sullivan, from “At the Airport”, Instructions for Traveling West

[rivxrn]

You are not lying on my bed before my eyes, and my hands fail to fill in the gaps between each of your fingers. Your eyes cannot reach me. And it feels as though you are as far and warm as the sun. But Darling, your voice whispers to me as if Eros himself is clutching my heart in his palms desperately. Every inch of my body begs for your caress, oh, my love, I know your hands would fit perfectly on every curve of my body. I cannot reach, but I can scream to you through endless words.