(via selfishcynic)
i’m jealous of
your pillows
and of your sheets
i want to hear
the sound of
your heartbeat
(Source: goldenspine, via safeslut)
You started telling me
from the day we met
that I was made of all the things
that made you weak.
I never wanted to be
your weakness;
I wanted to be all
of the things that made you
strong.
(via selfishcynic)
hunters-in-the-sherlocked-tardis:
Two Sides of Tumblr
omg this took forever but i’m so glad to be done. i don’t even know what to say about this ok but click to enlarge
This piece is officially available for print here! Please go ahead a buy one to support a growing (amateur) artist like me!
Hipster and Fandom Karp were twin sisters and mortal enemies. Hipster never stopped talking about how she was born first, and Fandom took revenge by constantly stealing Hipster’s stuff, or interpreting everything she said as something completely unintended. Generally, they ignored each other, a feat made easier by the fact that Hipster slept at night (in fact, she liked to go to bed and wake up early, before anyone else, and enjoy the solitude) and Fandom was mostly nocturnal. They would literally pass each other in the kitchen at 5am, Fandom putting away the dishes from her midnight snack before going to bed and Hipster dressed for the day, armed with her camera, ready to go take a walk in the pre-dawn light. They would nod at each other, maybe say hi, then go their separate ways.
They understood each other better than anyone else. Hipster had a group of associates with whom she spent time discussing deep things; she usually updated her blog via phone. Fandom rarely left the house, but chatted constantly (by typing) with people across the world. Yet ultimately, it was each other who they leaned on when the Zuckerberg kids across the street laughed at their apparent lack of friends, or when (god forbid) stupid, low-tech people were accidentally involved. Because Fandom could get just as deep as Hipster, and Hipster could just just as intense about things as Fandom, and they were sisters.
i cried
(via imatickingtimebomb)
I am not a poem.
There are no rhyming couplets
or sonnets in my blood. My veins
might have collapsed but not like
lovers falling into bed. I am a field
of wildflowers on fire. I am the feeling
of falling in a dream, the pull of imagined
gravity. I am the combination of a thousand
hungers painted on and on, until it blends to
a single, nameless shade. I am trying to get better
but I will never be a poem.
(Source: tryingleah)
I’m not poetic enough to think of
us like comrades but I am poetic enough
to feel like we are.We found each other at the worst possible time.
I am using you as sand to bury me, bury all the hopes
and wishes I had for him. You are using me as a silver
comparison to hold up to her and say,…
Nothing beats this kind of intimacy, when it’s about 3am and it feels like you’re the only two people in the world. There are no words or intentions, you’re just happy lying next to each other knowing that you never want to do this with anyone else. Just to consider that you’re each, essentially, a bag of bones and organs and muscles, and yet you’re both so much more than that because you’ve found each other and suddenly everything makes so much sense.
Omg this
(Source: annieherweg, via safeslut)
Sometimes people say wonderful things.
