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@schmaesthetic
Keith Haring Journals, January 3 1988
Apricot blossoms shower Valentino Park’s walkway, Italy, William Albert Allard.
In fear we find beauty, and in suffering we find meaning.
just beyond the cobbled street awaits a perch; fit for aged romance
welcome to the city of balcony flowers
rain on the rose バラの雨
what could be We coerce the hourglass to effervesce but halt it is bubbling boiling like poison how can it be? behold how beautiful this torment be I endure to observe but ne'er to remain no heed to survive or to live stay, stay and bequeath the bubbly to those They care to observe but ne'er to delve an impasse stands between self and them come alone go alone but you cannot be alone they say lies, lies.
You sit upon white sheets staring at your funny feet thinking me, what is me? Pliable, cloud or sunlight or storm just might change my mind Weak, the will of folk your thoughts they soak what is me? Shallow, I only feel that precarious need to be seen You sit before the screen thinking he, she can achieve heights out of reach Yet they, funnily, sit on a cloud and it may pour loud salt like you admit falls on days in shroud who are they? no one really knows ~schmaesthetic gif credits: z-artblog
there is a wrinkle in time a season; where it rains liquid gold and I'm laughing stars and it is quiet, so deliciously silent and simply grand that I can hear the cracks and whispers of a slumber infected mind; where the wax seals of scathed secrets are broken beyond repair and the haunting voice of reason shatters to winds of pure untouched chaos, rushing, cascading to corners obscure and poor souls melting from their unassuaged guilt can at long last, blissfully become reborn unmarked again;
electricity
radiance