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Three Goblin Art
trying on a metaphor

Andulka
macklin celebrini has autism

Kiana Khansmith

No title available
Keni
KIROKAZE

Discoholic 🪩

⁂

Love Begins
Jules of Nature
d e v o n
tumblr dot com
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Kaledo Art

blake kathryn

tannertan36
Stranger Things

JVL

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Belgium

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
@words-hold-worlds
Für screenreader unter dem cut
Der ADAC war heute da und trotzdem.
sunrise
standing by the darkness looming behind the open french doors, balcony a no man’s land shrouded in gossamer, he draws on his cigarette, the ember a ship passing in the night. smoke gathers between his lips, spills in a lazy trail up and away.
on the bed, by the far wall, the most gorgeous man in the world looks at him, sheets shying away from his long legs, the strength of his stomach. his chest is still wet with sweat, hair a dark thing on the pillows, eyes clear and sharp as always, seeing all he wants to hide from view.
he flicks the half smoked cigarette over the railing, watches it bounce sparks on the tiles below, a miniature explosion his heart mimics when he turns around and finds himself drawn in by those eyes. the sheets rasp against his naked body when he crawls over them like a dog
back to the side of its master, back to bending his back for both their pleasure, back to the throes, back to the gasps and grunts and moans of two animals caught in the skin of men, caught in the traps of their own making. caught in each others’ sharp sharp teeth.
hey, he says later, another cigarette between his teeth, darkness beyond less dark and sheets a mess on the floor. the pillows are swallowed by both their hair, tangled, fused, one and the same. the most gorgeous man in the world looks at him and waits for more.
hey, wanna run away together, he asks, grinning, making it half a joke while his heart threatens to choke him, veiny hands on his throat. the most gorgeous man in the world blinks his dark eyes, twitches his big hands against the sheets and touches his hip with two fingers.
the cigarette burns a hole in the carpet and he shatters like a cup against the two points of heat on his skin, spills viscera and blood and secrets, so many secrets, more secrets than cells inside of him, washing them both in filthy, murky red, as the horizon lights itself on fire.
i can’t, says the most gorgeous man in the world, teeth perfect rows of pearls that he would dive to the deepest depth for, drown himself for. i know, he answers, laughing the pain into submission, into a corner, pointing fingers at himself and laughing at the clown, tripping over his own shoes.
outside the sky bursts into colour in a breath-taking display no one sees - the whole world avoiding the sight for a split second, so that everything has changed once they look again. everything has changed and it all stays the same: smoke and darkness for them and the rest for the others.
sunrise
standing by the darkness looming behind the open french doors, balcony a no man’s land shrouded in gossamer, he draws on his cigarette, the ember a ship passing in the night. smoke gathers between his lips, spills in a lazy trail up and away.
on the bed, by the far wall, the most gorgeous man in the world looks at him, sheets shying away from his long legs, the strength of his stomach. his chest is still wet with sweat, hair a dark thing on the pillows, eyes clear and sharp as always, seeing all he wants to hide from view.
he flicks the half smoked cigarette over the railing, watches it bounce sparks on the tiles below, a miniature explosion his heart mimics when he turns around and finds himself drawn in by those eyes. the sheets rasp against his naked body when he crawls over them like a dog
back to the side of its master, back to bending his back for both their pleasure, back to the throes, back to the gasps and grunts and moans of two animals caught in the skin of men, caught in the traps of their own making. caught in each others’ sharp sharp teeth.
hey, he says later, another cigarette between his teeth, darkness beyond less dark and sheets a mess on the floor. the pillows are swallowed by both their hair, tangled, fused, one and the same. the most gorgeous man in the world looks at him and waits for more.
hey, wanna run away together, he asks, grinning, making it half a joke while his heart threatens to choke him, veiny hands on his throat. the most gorgeous man in the world blinks his dark eyes, twitches his big hands against the sheets and touches his hip with two fingers.
the cigarette burns a hole in the carpet and he shatters like a cup against the two points of heat on his skin, spills viscera and blood and secrets, so many secrets, more secrets than cells inside of him, washing them both in filthy, murky red, as the horizon lights itself on fire.
i can’t, says the most gorgeous man in the world, teeth perfect rows of pearls that he would dive to the deepest depth for, drown himself for. i know, he answers, laughing the pain into submission, into a corner, pointing fingers at himself and laughing at the clown, tripping over his own shoes.
outside the sky bursts into colour in a breath-taking display no one sees - the whole world avoiding the sight for a split second, so that everything has changed once they look again. everything has changed and it all stays the same: smoke and darkness for them and the rest for the others.
[photo ID: zwei screenshots einer notes app; weiße schrift auf dunklem hintergrund. der erste screenshot zeigt den titel eines gedichts, der zweite das gedicht selber. ein transkript folgt unter dem cut.
[id: Screenshot of a notes app, white text on dark background; the text reads:
It is all snow in the end.
Tears and sweat are water, are oceans,
And oceans birth clouds
And clouds are snow.
Rain sometimes, but winter seems endless
Here, so snow.
If you fill the ocean with blood,
Would the snow be red from the first
Flake?
Would we need more carnage to make
It red by day and black by night?
Would we need tears to wash it clean?
Two owls call, there is a bear in the woods,
And the fire has settled into the ash, glowing.
The snow is red with it, alive with it.
Alive, alive, alive.
Sweat and tears and blood, an ocean.
The waves break on the shore and it snows. /End id]