SheSassafras: Angie @shesassafras - Tumblr Blog

texasgoths

got a lil filler killer 🦂🦂🦂

shesassafras

Beenlookingforthis

I can't sleep again, but what else is new????? Www.instagram.com/Shesassafras

www.instagram.com/Shesassafras The world has always been crazy.

elysianink

what do we do now that the corpse is laid to rest? dig it up again and root through its pockets to see if we can profit from it one last time? or do we pay our respects, leave flowers on the grave and hope it stays dead? i don’t know about you, but it will always haunt me.

UNFINISHED BUSINESS // abby, day 353 (via elysianink)

Wow. Love.

Www.instagram.com/Shesassafras insta poetry challenge accepted

robertjw4688

Ideas bleed down my face and corrode the soil, blooming orchids where only ricin once grew.

nikitaagupta

passionate love is love which is disinterested, you aren’t moved by selfish motives. you are disinterested in your lovers bank balance and his familial background. you are disinterested by the brands he wears and the street he lives on. you are disinterested by how famous or powerful he may be. there is no other objective of that relationship, other than your lover. there is no ulterior motivate for that relationship. passionate love is love which is disinterested.

d i s i n t e r e s t e d l o v e// nikitagupta (via muffin-nikks)

nowickipoetry

"Blue Star"

“Blue stars Die as quickly As blue hearts, While the ripe red ones Are eternal.”

- r.n.

thesilentgazer

Shake up The universe With your Beauty, My love, Inside Out.

gazergirl. (via thesilentgazer)

lonesomebigmike

Why do you write poetry?

Because football was kinda dumb. Because people thought I’d be bad at it. Because the little broken boy I used to be would’ve liked it. Because my sister laughed at me when I told her. Because my mother taught me to not give a single flying fuck about what anyone I do not love thinks of me. Because dad called it gay, and my gay friends are pretty chill Because this way when I bitch about her it’s art. Because there is a crying old man in my chest with an axe made of ink, and he’s only half way done cutting down the tree I hung the boy in me from. Because I’ve forgotten to say I love you. Because my best friend died and the last words I said to him were the least poetic I’ve ever spoken. Because I didn’t go to his funeral. Because I didn’t give a gun a blowjob last year. Because I didn’t have a dad until I didn’t want a dad anymore. Because it’s more therapeutic than drugs, and drugs are more therapeutic than therapy Because two months ago I called my stepfather dad and he didn’t realize I didn’t call him by name. Because I am an oak tree covered in burnscars and pixiedust and thick ass black body hair that just refuses to fall the fuck over. Because yesterday I watched the most gandalf looking motherfucker on this planet wake up from a coma and growl at me for a cigarette and a beer. Because if I get famous Morgan Freeman will read my shit. Because in 25 years my kids might feel like this. Because in 25 years I might be dead. Because in 25 years I want to look back at my youth and know that I was heard.