ain't nobody going home

and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘦

[ithinkitstimetogohome]

camlann

[deadshrike-deactivated20220125]

FACELESS BUT TANGIBLE; BODY IMAGE AND THE HUMAN FORM x

[idleminds]

Sweet Bean あん (2015)

[softhe4rted]

it’s rot girl autumn! we're decaying alongside the trees!

[abnormall]

i dont talk anymore. i dont want to. i have nothing to say. i have nothing to contribute to a conversation. words escape me and i dont care that they do. i can go entire days without muttering a word. i just want to be left alone, now. 

[autumnlusts]

𝑰 𝒎𝒆𝒕 𝒂 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒐𝒏 𝑯𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕.

Taken October 31, 2019. Salem, MA.

[yesterdaysprint]

The Strand magazine, England, April 1908

[weirwolves]

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

girl you look like a bloodborne boss (complimentary)

[rachiller]

“Usually fire is unfamiliar to me. Usually I am not its friend. Whenever I forget I remind myself of the time I tried to pull the fire close and it bit me in the throat. I have heard that volcanoes are probably gods, their mouths actually; if this is true I would like to offer myself as a sacrifice. It is very hard, these days, to find a good martyr. Lately I have become my own. This is why I think of love as a sort of sacrifice: I am so willing to die for the people I love, I’ve almost begun to believe it’s necessary. For this reason you shouldn’t ask me to do so, unless you mean it. (I understand throwing yourself to the wolves in place of someone else, because I have been a wolf. I understand blood.) This means there is fire in our mouths. It means we are gods, dirty and earth-shaken; here, a skull bleached by sun, having belonged to a creature with two heads, one of which ate the other. This must also be a sort of sacrifice – I would let myself be eaten if it would keep the rest of me alive.”

— TO SINK SHIPS // megan virginia (via poetriaa)

[goodreadss]

Claude Monet

[stimman4000]

.

[shiisiln]

There are three types of Mountain Goats songs;

-In a bad situation and feeling bad about it

-In a good situation and feeling bad about it

-In a bad situation and feeling GREAT about it

[1-beadyeyes-deactivated20251104]

only time ive ever felt loved was when i was eating a red berry parfait and walking to the library but a girl ran smack into me getting us both covered in berries then she grabbed my hand and said “ill never be sorry enough, but you look so beautiful” and she ran away and i just have to live w this empty hole where my heart lay

[1-beadyeyes-deactivated20251104]

in that moment i really was ready to do any thing if she had held onto my hand and ran in to traffic i wouldve followed like a lost puppy smeared in red sugar entranced as persephone was to the pomegranate i wouldve died right there with out a second thought and i couldnt even fault her for beguiling me so, in that moment, love was so easy ; it was blameless

[homunculus-argument]

The ancient greeks really had graves for dogs. And they carved stuff on the stone like “carrying you here, I now feel as much grief as I felt joy when I carried you home” and “you never barked without reason, but now you are silent”. The human urge to tell a story spans centuries and millennia, and the loss of a really good dog makes you want to tell people - even people centuries in the future, who will never know your name - that there once was a dog who was a very good girl, but now she no longer is and you aren’t sure what to do with all this sorrow.

[lifeinpoetry]

These are the late poems. Most poems are late of course: too late, like a letter sent by a sailor that arrives after he’s drowned.

— Margaret Atwood, from “Late Poems,” Dearly

[valtsv]

woman in a film: soaked in blood brandishing a knife in grimy hands screaming incoherently veins popping on her forehead red faced and disheveled going absolutely feral with rage

me: