#;broken

[shivabanda]

𑁍 Kintsugi - The Japanese art of mending 𑁍

Bless you Children of Dawn,

Mend your heart.

We are all patchworks of trauma and frustration

Overwhelmed by the absurdity of life, even though we strive day after day to make sense of it. Truth is it makes sense and non-sense. Truth is you don’t need to evaluate yourself. Truth is you are living in vain, and it really doesn’t matter, because you are so tiny. Breathe !

You are a failed artist but you have poetry in your heart.

You have not enough money, but you choose to dive in life instead of shielding yourself behind fears and wealth.

Your heart is broken, and the scar will remain, but you loved. Most never love because it is always hurts.

Your body is craving to be adored and touched and taken care of, because you are still alive, because you didn’t gave up on life, and you did not became one of those ready-made ghosts.

You are tired to be different, but you never wanted to be like them.

This is your beauty, all your scars and flaws, not the unbroken ordinary plate, but the extraordinary web of gold and Light holding you together. This is the beauty that hits me, the cracks where I can see your soul, beauty dripping through the cracks of your insanity.

[anxiouscongenial-archive]

Broken

Jesse slumped down the dark and cold sidewalk with his arms wrapped around himself. His legs were shaky and his head was cloudy still from the drugs he was given unknowingly. He shivered involuntarily and a soft squeak of paint left his lips.

His sides were bruised, chest, stomach and back bled from the deep razor cuts. The deep bite mark on the crook of his neck had stopped bleeding but hurt just as much as his ribs. The blood from his wounds began to soak through his shirt and a bit through his hoodie near his back.

Barely able to lift his feet, one foot stepped onto the other's untied shoelace causing Jesse to fall onto the pavement. Not really finding the energy to get up, he laid there sobbing into the cement. He half hoped Damion had followed him to take him back to finish his job but he never came.

[redhcwk-archive]

your brother is taking your sister for her scan how come your not going?

"Well, I can't exactly hop my way there right now. Let Joey take Rosie, he's her brother too."

[princepsvirfortis-archived]

you cannot fix what was born { b r o k e n }

[princeofpugs]

Wish i could cry, but all my tears are dry...

[betternemeth]

Broken || Drabble

Joint placed loosely between middle and index finger, Ryan gingerly smoked the weed he had received minutes ago from one of his friends. His eyes were already glazed over; from the mixture of alcohol and weed. His head tilts up as he breathes out the smoke filling his lungs. He didn’t know what to feel as he looked over at the three friends laughing and singing along to the buzz of the radio. He wasn’t sure what had brought him here, to the car filled with laughter, and drugs. Had he relapsed without knowledge? It was the only thing he could possibly think of… he couldn’t have done this consciously. Ryan had at least a small bit of brains left.

With hands gripping the steering wheel, Ryan thought back to the days where he and Nick spent every day together; as kids, enjoying life. Before their family was ripped apart, and Ryan was taken to some unknown shitty part of Florida while Nick grew up with Donny and his—their—parents. Ryan didn’t know then, but he wouldn’t see Nick or his family for five years. Five goddamn years where his life would fall apart in every way it possibly could. He was taught life how hard it was at such a young age; that god? God didn’t exist and their was no one watching over him or making sure the demons didn’t attack him every night. Life was something you couldn’t run away from. It was a tunnel with no light at the end, just darkness. Where you would fall, fall, fall until you reached the end of the abyss and just like that—you’re gone.

Taking a deep breath, Ryan sipped at the alcohol his friend offered as they began passing around the joint. His friends laughed and sang—laughed and sang. It went on and on. Nothing could go wrong for them. Suddenly, without warning, Ryan swerves, the car sliding off the road—of the highway and rolling down the hill until bam—the car smacks into a tree and Ryan’s head hits the dashboard, a sickening crack filling the otherwise extremely silent car. His head snapped to the side and lay limp. His body fell into excruciating pain as he heard the wails from the passengers—his friends. They had survived. They were alive. They could make sounds, and they could shove around Ryan’s limp body in an effort to make him move, make him scream with him. But Ryan—he wasn’t moving. He was laying still, almost lifeless as his eyes closed to the sound of sirens and he slipped away.