Blood To Ink And Back Again @zelqueenofspades - Tumblr Blog

is ur pfp 9/11? /genq

be so for real. be so for real with me right now. that’s hilarious. it’s an arch window from draculas castle from the movie dracula 1931. there’s bats.

kyberinthevoid

I hate that “chat” now makes people think of chatgpt. no. I’m asking my imaginary greek chorus twitch audience.

spiralstaircased

A windy day with a moderate temperature will make you feel like you got reborn into a world that really loves you this time

pissditching

"describe your symptoms" brother i have felt like this since i was 12 unrelentingly

saltyermilk

Science diagram that looks like a shitpost but with rain world music

the-haiku-bot

Science diagram

that looks like a shitpost but

with rain world music

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

theblackparadeisdead

What's that poem about the cockroach and the moth where the cockroach is like "I wish I've ever wanted anything the way that moth wanted to burn itself up in that lantern" because we had to read that in high school and it still fucks me up to this day

theblackparadeisdead

Ok I found it it's called "the lesson of the moth by archy" and it's by Don Marquis

yourhometowncryptid

this is so fucking funny. im going to say "here come the locusts" everytime something goes wrong now

breya-etherium-shaper

*multiplies you by 1*

Ach im the exact same but a process has occurred

headspace-hotel

I'm thinking about this post and i have decided that it is one of those things that is a poem in some undefinable way

0thello

Venus Discovering the Dead Adonis (detail), 1650

unknown artist.

My house in my mind is empty today. The floor seem to creak louder and in new places as I go up the stairs. Normally there’s liveliness, smells and sounds, but now the air is still and quiet. There seems to be dust on the shelves on this floor. The beds seem to have been made years ago. The smell of fresh stock is as absent as the giggles from the next room over. This is not my house. But it has to be- the same drapes cover the same windows looking off to the same rivers…. But this is not my house. I am left a bit doubtful when I hear a rustle. Maybe it’s a joke. The shouting from the attic door tells me that my optimism is running rampant again. Out. Let me out. Let me help. Why can’t I hear? Let me out. Please, god, let me be free. I start at the sound of my own voice. How am I in two places? How am I so alone but so surrounded? Where is the push of the crowd, or is my heart just thumping loudly on its own? My chest tightens. Water. You need water, your throat is dry. You are so thirsty. I make to move, to go to a sink or to the kitchens downstairs, but find myself rooted to the spot. A sob leaves my lips as I look down to see the dark, rotting planks of the attic below me. I am alone. I am trapped.