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the purest hate in grandeur states enraptures holy minds in void it calls upon our coldest zeal and burns a deadly hollow deal written in the darkest beat its purpose now lay in defeat upon the stones it still remains never to remove the stains deepest red you've ever seen fangs in forms of letter sheen bolded, beaten, your will be done the hearts of lost reduced to none
Life of the ever going; He’s never had an address. Instead, he states, his home is above the horizon; A place you can never reach, but always go. He’s happy this way, he says. I wish I could believe him. He walks as is if he’s never carried a thing, smiles as though he’s never needed braces, but only talks of foreign passions. He’s victim, oh placid reverie, to greener, the fields of ought to be.
I don't love it because it's beautiful i love it because it reminds me of you.
nostalgia is sometimes as sweet as a sunset, and as bitter as the dirt.
Let me be just a memory, don’t linger on me. just a flash, a glimpse of time well spent nothing more, nothing less. I want to be there, smiling, when you recognize how lucky you are how privileged you are to simply be breathing and then leave me there and remember me for my heart, for your soul
when i was young i used to think that the feeling i got when i was swinging on the swingset or when i was riding down a hill on my bike was the greatest feeling in the world, and that’s what I should live for. i used to think that life was made up of the hilltop highs where bliss embraced me as if i were it’s child, and dreadful lows that kept me from my true mother’s arms. i used to bounce on trampolines, dig trenches in the dirt until they became a part of my knees and regard my friends as fellow adventurers on my quest for eternal moments. i used to pull my worries over my head every night as blankets and lay there tying knots in every organ that i had built strings into. i would lay outside my parents door, knocking on it with the wimpers of my loneliness. when i was young, life was just a list of emotions like rollercoasters that i would find myself in line for. most caused my pulse to race and my hair to stand up straight. others made me sick and seduced me into believing the world was about to end. but i always found myself back on solid ground searching for the next thrill. i’m older now, and things have drastically changed trampolines are now death machines whose targets are my back and knees dirt is no longer a crafting material, because its sole purpose is to muck up my pristine arrangement of clothes. but i still pull my worries over my head as blankets each night i still let the absence of light convince me that my last moments will be spent regretting how little eye contact i gave, how little time i spared and how often i forget i’m even living. I still think life is made up the blissful highs and dreadful lows but i’m usually somewhere inbetween, and sometimes i believe that’s much worse. but now I spend most of my time remembering the good ol’ days of adventures and reckless naivety, now I'm holding onto the hope that one day hoping that every day i can use what i’ve learned about how beautiful life can be and share it with the hopeless and broken. lets venture together. maybe we can share your burdens together and maybe, just for a moment, you can breath as a child breathes unburdened, hopeful and full of imagination. God knows it's difficult for even me and you’ll believe that bliss is a matter of finally stepping into the river and letting the current wash away the blanket of worries and anxieties that so often cover our eyes. and just for a while we can pretend that the world doesn't feel like a mountain on our backs. when i was young i used to think, and hope, that i would never grow old and now that i’m somewhere in between young and not young anymore, and i’m still thinking the same thing
Art is crafted crumbs of infinities, shattered fragments of beauties, and abrupt illustrations of realities. Art defines art.
time the infinite doesn’t know our names so whisper it in in-cre-ments. detach each letter from my tongue sew it on the inside of your cheek and each time you breathe or clench your teeth you’ll know me. my name will always be in your mouth the way it should be
it’s simultaneously the most beautiful, and the most tragic thing at the same time; to be selfless. Tragic because the one’s who do it are broken inside. And beautiful, for the exact same reason
