thisisbecause.

siamesetwincest asked: Oooh, you've got 2 blogs. Ok, I'll follow you here as well. You've got a great nose. Is that a strange compliment? Yeah? Well, I don't care.

That is a strange compliment! But it is much appreciated because I’ve never been to fond of my nose!

andrewbobbyaka asked: Sooooooooooooooooooo you are pretty much the best person on Earth! :D

PSHT NAH! you crazyy :)

I cried on city walls.

Tiny black bubbles fill my veins

Numbness spreads through my hands

Crystalline faeries snip at my hair

-

Oxygen is for the weak

The sensation seeps into my memories

Twice I slip and fall

-

I couldn’t remember who I will be

But the glory rises only so often

Sometimes I just can’t

Wake up, wake up. Passivity only gets you so far. Be passionate, be compassionate, I beg you. It’s scary, there are billions of emotions, of people, of things happening as you sit here eyes glazed over, mind numbed. Don’t let it eat you alive. Don’t let it dictate who you are. Be curious, be argumentative, I beg you. Because I am afraid for myself, and I’m afraid for you. Smell the shit, because it’s not going away, and save the stars because their lives are numbered just as ours are.

so…this is kinda shit, but I wrote it when I was in a really good mood

I love those days when my heart decides to move with the rhythm of the music,

As opposed to the mechanical ticking of the biological clock.

I love those days when my feet shuffle according to the whims of my mood,

Instead of marching towards my destination.

I love those days when my hands create the picture of my dreams,

Instead of scribbling the images of my brain.

I love those days when my eyes perceive the colors and light and beauty in the world,

And not tune in to the gray, structural, concreteness of the world.

Anonymous asked: Echoes of past events nudge the tiller on my present course. I await its reflection in the future.

I count the minuscule seeds that I drop behind me here and there, with this desperate feeling that the relentless winds have devoured them whole. 

To Sad Writers and their “Fucked Up Mind”s

ghostsandonionskins:

There’s good news
and bad news
The good news is
for the most part
you steal the simple
archetypes of pain
in every Hollywood movie
paint them black
and call them yours

(It’s the ones with imagination
that are lost legitimate
The ones that waste their courage
on the truly new and terrifying
and have no strength left
to layer their artisan
cries for help)

The bad news is
(and here’s the real tragedy)
nobody
fucked up or not
has ever read wisdom
with half the seriousness
of worry

Kaleidoscope misting over an ocean of asphalt;

Sanded memories mix with shards of glass;

I tiptoe through cerulean dealings, only to be gorged by the simplicities of others.

Jammed and jaded, the tide laps at my eyes.

Tarnished luminescence remains intact;

Guilty hermits pray to costal horizons,

And the sun sets twelve times over just to bear my name.