Anthology of a Still Beating Heart

"If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint' then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced." -Vincent Van Gogh Ask

[90377]

Dezembersonne im Pleerwald by Markus Bolliger

[anthony-samaniego]

[writermanguy]

Cold

Still

Like the Boulder you are burried under.

Be still

For the world is quiet now.

[bnmxfld]

[writermanguy]

Don’t mistake my pain for poetry. What is so poetic about bruised knuckles and black coffee? cold bedsides and bloodshot eyes? dried ink and broken pencils? i am not artwork to be gawked at. i am disconnected stanzas and the prose that unsettles you to your bone so you lock it away in the journal you swore never to touch again. You decorated me like a holy empire but no one ever told you that I come from the gallows, And I don’t believe in queens.

(via writermanguy)

[writermanguy]

i didn’t know what to do,

So i just wrote.

Not a poem, not a story.

It was only me,

skinned and flayed.

i had forgotten what i looked like

and no amount of shattered glass

would show me who i am,

Or maybe who i was. As day

continues, i forget a little bit more. Maybe by nightfall

i will be empty.

By nightfall i would be alone.

By nightfall i could close my eyes,

watch memories become dreams.

i could live there.

“End of day”

[haleyincarnate]

Based off of this submission sent to @inanotherunivrse

[writermanguy]

My skin only smells like kerosine because i’ve been burning down all the places that you’ve kissed me. The sky is red and i can’t find a single star. i’ve made a ghost of you and it’s my worst mistake yet. i always visit the crime scene because it’s a monument. An obelisk of stone and ice. Nights have been quiet since the walls stopped whispering, but now i can’t sleep. All i think about is the way you wanted yellow roses when all i had were tulips. i’ve spent too many pages trying to capture you. What i didn’t realise was that i should’ve saved some paper to let you go. Minutes feel like seconds while entire days pass in an hour. i forgot what the sun looks like. i should’ve known you’d take it with you.

My poetry never reached you so i never finished it. (via writermanguy)

[222manythoughts]

[psychotic-messs-deactivated2022]

[luvpoem-blog]

I haven’t heard your voice in 6 months

[amortizing]

…and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?

Vincent van Gogh (via 7-weeks)

[cur-sed]

https://flic.kr/p/p5DJ7P

[thecolourlesssunrise]

We are all that’s left. Just dust and echoes //

[tanjavanja]

hah a! strangle me

[eroticmoss]

[writermanguy]

And when the fire quelled and I was in the dark, covered in ash. I thought 'is this not how the Phoenix rises?'