#eighteenth

[beaucolics]

y'all

I'm eighteen today and idk how i feel

already cried about it once XD

am i the only one that has a strange attachment to their childhood and visceral fear of responsibility?

[v-v7-iv-i]

eighteen. stressed&sick.trying to convince myself that birthdays are overrated.

[ask-apocalyptic-au-dadvid-blog]

David, honey, take a deep breath. Nothing good will come from you getting worked up. Think about Max. He needs you to stay level headed through this. Things will work out one way or another, you just have to remain calm.

“I just… I just need him to be okay, I need them all to be okay…”*Max grunts softly*

(( hi yes i am not dead.. well i am on the inside but whatever, anyway thanks for all the questions and stuff!!))

[brokenswingsets]

favourite work of art. 🌙.

[jaxknife]

on eros; ft. apollo et pluto

i.                     Thin and intangible fingers as rays, by consequence range prone o’r the other, and cast their shadows to the stage, the dirt. A blush of a brush of nerve— as winter breath, seen not felt. —refracted as grey, and yellow the other way— That reach—I swear it was on purpose once, maybe even twice, I dare. Take note of those, and these polar kings. In the setting of Apollo, and the rising of Pluto their sleight of hands, they do give slip— as lovers do, in some other way. Without ado, the sun king breathes and the moon king sighs. —All Erebus echoes in ache.

ii.                   I have traced, in all my time, the rivers blue over and o’r the green, the pale, the truth. I’ve traced the map, moreover thrice— and found each ends in you. For I know you, and I know your love— oh Apollo, your Eros, how it lies. Amongst the gods, within your space, above I, as Pluto, as so below, dare not rob of what solace. But, I do, I know you, mute radiant, and therein known your warmth. I’ve whispered, as the pale king does, relayed to the waves a tempests tantrums, in your wake. Orchestrated, and so engulfed, in an extra dance, a bit of show. That liquid hand mine, did try to spread but got scratched out— and so in exhale, all carried on. I dare not grasp at the sun. I made this vow, just here. To keep in wait in the eve I bring, bid stay. To have those fingers as rays again come, if only just— just scarcely brush my face.

iii.                  These polar kings, oh how they waltz for they waltz round you, man with all dirt a stage the waltz goes on, goes round.  Another life passes, and so on and on.   But it is said, my friend, For generations, man gave credit of the moon, of all his efforts. But I, as he of him still that I dare not know.

[springersandpearls]

[its-that-newyear-shitspresso]

Some

[its-that-newyear-shitspresso]

drop