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The Diary of a Writer: Missing →

thediaryofawriter:

I miss the breath of your bones
The still of your silence
The heat of your heart.
On me.

I miss the existence of belonging
As a part of someone else,
Intertwined in strands of your soul
And branches of your veins.
Amidst crumpled white sheets,
Tangled webs of hair
And sunlight peeking through…

(Source: messagestothemoon)

poetinside: This is not a poem. →

poetinside:

I want to get high and
Fuck you underneath the stars
Not the real ones, in the sky, I
Don’t want Orion and Cornucopia
To witness this no I just want to
Throw you down on my single bed
Under cheap, glow in the dark constellations
I want to smoke in bed while listening to Nina Simone
And…

darksilenceinsuburbia:

Khoa Le aka Moonywolf.
http://moonywolf.deviantart.com/
fabulouslyfetish:

A little sneaky snap of my colleague Mel in Cervena Fox’s custom Auroras. We really don’t want to let these go!

fabulouslyfetish:

A little sneaky snap of my colleague Mel in Cervena Fox’s custom Auroras. We really don’t want to let these go!

(via pussylequeer)

junxushangrila:

Ikenaga Yasunari is a 1965-born Japanese artist. His paintings depict beautiful women, whose expressions and postures suggest a dreamy atmosphere.
Ikenaga’s paintings also showcase exquisite textile pattern designs. His subjects are always women of modern times, but at the same time, the Nihonga painting style reflects ancient Japanese traditions, which gives his works a timeless feel. He creates his art by dropping Japanese paints into the canvas that he calls “linen cloth”, with a Menso brush.

moshita:

Nacho Diaz (aka Naolito)
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww i is love this

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww i is love this

(Source: orangeju.deviantart.com, via msvioletmarie)


lol

"To love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weighs you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.”
— Ellen Bass"