It’s not that people can’t love you if you don’t love yourself. It’s that you won’t feel it because it’ll always seem like you don’t deserve it. —(via chibi-brian)

Leona “The Radiant Dawn”

Home of the Hobbits
Home of the Elves
Home of the Dwarves

cyberloin:

is there anyone who follows me who thinkcs capitalism is good. hey u are wrong

You are the chandelier
swinging in the next room.
The broken time machine
that prayers couldn’t fix.
All those songs I swear I buried
but still manage to sit heavy like a hornet’s nest in my ears.
If you thought all that screaming was about someone else,
then you were only mostly wrong.
My hands have been so busy since you decided
to be brave for somebody new,
and I still haven’t felt a single thing.
There was a point to this body
before all it did was wait for you to hold it,
and I must be more than what you were too tired to love,
but some days I still look for you in all the cracking ceilings.
I tried looking for myself once,
but it just didn’t feel right.
I’d wait around here for what might happen,
but I am so tired of turning myself
into a graveyard
just so you can feel sorry enough to bring me flowers.
Save your shaking hands, and save your amens.
This isn’t about mourning anymore,
it’s about moving on.
I am spelling my alone differently
until it stops meaning ‘without you’
and starts meaning ‘with myself.’
There are a thousand ways to write about you leaving
and even more to say that I don’t want to anymore.
If I can’t forget the bodies that left,
then I am going to remember the ones that stayed,
and mine will always be the one I thank first. —Y.Z, what I learned while writing this (via rustyvoices)

faux-flesh:

ionicsky:

extrasad:

Fuck. It’s ironic how empty I am because 

I swear 6 months ago I had the universe inside

of me but I cried the rivers in my bones dry.

The volcanoes in my chest erupted when you told

me you didn’t love me anymore and lava flooded

my body and hardened till I stopped sleeping.

I had stars in my lungs but I burned them

all out with the cigarettes I was smoking

to get you the fuck out of my throat. The

flowers growing at the bottoms of my

stomach are dead. Apparently you  

can’t water flowers with vodka.

I had the sky in my veins but it’s

been pretty fucking stormy since I

ripped them open. I had planets 

on the tip of my tongue but

the debris from the shattered 

remains of “us” have been

crashing into them. I was

everything. And then I met

you and we were everything.

Now you’re fucking some

blonde girl who gets

high all the time and

I’m a fucking

mess.

this is my favorite fucking poem ever ever ever

this has won my heart over, so so good.

whatthepatrick replied to your photo:hallo ~~
OOOH what color? ovo

like uhm hot hot PINK!!! :D