For you are my solace.

Solace | Of Dragons and Wolves | Redamancy A repository of aesthetics and personal work for the different worldbuilding and headworld projects I have!

[ryebreadgf]

“When I was little, I asked my pastor if Judas had been in love with Jesus. He sent me back to my mother early, with a note for her to explain “things.” But no matter what anyone said, I couldn’t be convinced that the Bible was anything less than a love story. (I kissed your cheek in front of them all and in doing so, I think that I damned the both of us. You, to be left crucified and bleeding and paying for my sins. Me, to be left wandering and wanting and never to see your face again.)”

— K. Wright, Judas  (via chazeatsbrains)

[bambicest]

WHEN PERSON A GENTLY TOUCHES PERSON B’S SCARS  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[bambicest]

when person b is so accustomed to violence that they don’t know how to react to gentle touch (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[astromechovess-deactivated20211]

-voice cracks- scars and affection

[dirbyagnesvarda]

jenny slate / red white & royal blue by casey mcquiston

[redhawke-deactivated20170628]

Visit Original Link

[bucket-o-bones]

y'all, listen to this and feel things with me

[stephenstilwell-deactivated2021]

“Did we fall from the same star? I think I knew you in another life.”

s.s. (stephenstilwell)

[poeticallyemm]

[i-wrotethisforme]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: there’s something about being alone with a skyline and your favorite song that makes nothing else matter.

[lhzthepoet]

He asks, ‘Would you like to be the hero?’ and his thoughts say No.   The hero suffers.  The hero loses.  The hero dies.   Out loud, 'I already am.’

Excerpt from Mortal Hearts // L.H.Z

[leafsea]

precarious

i constantly create castles in my head—castles filled from wall to wall with hypothetical futures

but the castles do not hold: they collapse, again and again, as my life unfolds,

leaving me wondering why i built them in the first place

//

i only feel whole when i am hiding;

i fragment any time i lock eyes with an unfamiliar face

i see others who speak as easy as they breathe,

and yet for me the first words of a conversation

are like the clouds that form before a storm

[lifeinpoetry]

I walk around with this voice that wants me dead. It usually clears its throat first thing in the morning, as my dreams are lifting like patchy fog.

— Brittani Sonnenberg, from “It’s Not That Bad,” published in Conflict of Interest

[lifeinpoetry]

“Who has looked at either of you lately / with such tenderness?”

— Derrick Austin, from “Taking My Father and Brother to The Frick,” published in Poem-a-Day

[yvesolade]

MOURNING GLORY after @exit152

last night i dreamt of the sky two-toned \ of how hunger unmoors the body \ births something so wild \ so angry \ so empty \ so free: the heart like an animal starving itself to death. \ shadows of its teeth in the dark. \ what i mean \ is that sorrow is such a vicious sport \ how i set fire to my heart \ to burn you out of it. \ how my mother is still afraid to be left alone. \ and we call that a kind of love. \ the clocks tick back- wards \ bleeding indigo and blue. the sea told me a secret \ as i cut longing clean in half \ i made desire into a prayer. \ we are all going to die, some of us in more pain than others.

[gnossienne]

Louise Glück, “October”

[exit152]

where is my heart when i need it

i feel like i’m gonna fall off the edge of the world or of my own bed in the morning when the sun has not made a single stitch of light in the sky and we have not driven our cars or had our coffee or yelled a single curse word into the mirror. i am not alive. i am not a living thing. i bit my bronze halo when i saw it first and then i became  more angel than girl. how strange to be a dead body and to be so beautiful and to be so young. i have grown all the way up into this new skin. nobody told me what it is to stop and then to still be in motion. by now i know i cannot find my own pulse. someone else’s hand will have to do the job. i’ve loved before, so I have learned everything i need to know about being quiet.

[natalieweepoetry]

Natalie Wee, “Cartilage”, Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines

[juansendizon]

Some people love too far from themselves to the point where when they’re broken by it, it takes a while to bring themselves back home.

Juansen Dizon

[poeticallyemm]

Ice-cold water seeps From numb wrists, Pooling at my sides.   I bathe In puddles of gold And he loves me for it.   I am the drought– Sweeping through, Cutting off blood flow To the universe,   Taking with it everything, Pastel petals stained With the scars of spring.

poeticallyordinary // scars of spring