floating along a breeze♥

One big paradox.
With a twang of sarcasm
& a hint of bitterness.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

All These Words Still Taste Like You | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)

(via kissslutever)

Last night I dreamt that I broke all your teeth
with my bare knuckles,
left your liar’s mouth bleeding and raw.
I tore that smile off your face,
I stuffed it down your throat.
Your love was like a dust bowl, dry cracked dirt
staining beige over my bones,
kissing hard ground and scorched throat,
kissing sunburnt skin.
I told the priest to soak my body in holy water,
to exorcise you with Latin chants and incense smoke.
I told the healer fix me, get him out of my skin.
I told the doctor I would swallow all the pills if it meant
that I could learn to breathe again,
could taste the air without your mouth on mine.
I told the poet, write me better.
Write me happy.
Write me whole again.

Charles Bukowski (via introspectivepoet)

(via letscreateanew)

I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. But I think I have known it pretty often, too often.

Alexandra Bracken, Never Fade (via petrichour)

(Source: akivva, via gutter-sluts-and-bubble-butts)

I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you.

TheDailyPositive.com (via thedailypozitive)

(via not-anotherprettyface)

We lose ourselves in the things we love. We find ourselves there, too.

madeagoestohell:

i wonder if anyone has ever peed in the olympic pool

(Source: emojigrl, via skyesarefalling)

Azra. T  (via c-oquetry)

(Source: 5000letters, via 198os)

I’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. You could come knocking on my door five years from now and I would open my arms wider and say, ‘Come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.’

Roses For Rei (via rosesforrei)

How long can you drag the moment?
An hour? A day? A week? A month? A year?
When you said you love me. The lie felt like forever.

Zelda Fitzgerald to Scott Fitzgerald, 1919 (via ugh)

(Source: larmoyante, via falling-deeperinlove)

I can’t think of anything but nights with you.

Jim Morrison (via feellng)

(via teenager90s)

That’s what real love amounts to - letting a person be what he really is. Most people love you for who you pretend to be. To keep their love, you keep pretending - performing. You get to love your pretence. It’s true, we’re locked in an image, an act - and the sad thing is, people get so used to their image, they grow attached to their masks. They love their chains. They forget all about who they really are. And if you try to remind them, they hate you for it, they feel like you’re trying to steal their most precious possession.
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