Heartbeat drumming double time,
I need one more chance to be near you.

"The sun inside of him
rages like wildfire
and he is
and he is
scorching the skin of my heart,
yet still he pretends
that he is safe for me to love,
that his hands are gentle,
that his fingerprints won’t be
seared into the notches of my spine.

The sun inside of him
could set the kingdom ablaze;
he knows this, he does.

And he still asks me to love him,
to face the flame.

Find me in the ashes.


Emily Palermo, Apollo
1 day ago · 2,372 notes · VIA · SOURCE


Melbourne in the 1970s (source: my dad)

2 days ago · 690 notes · VIA · SOURCE

the cure ~ boys don’t cry

5 days ago · 7,489 notes · VIA


[swallows lit cigarette] arctic monkeys

5 days ago · 163,165 notes · VIA · SOURCE


you know what they say, bad news comes in threes. FIRST i spent too long in the sandpit, SECOND i made a just ok castle, THIRD only a few people applauded

6 days ago · 167 notes · VIA


skyrim doesnt belong to the nords

skyrim doesnt belong to the dunmer

skyrim doesnt belong to any race

skyrim belongs to me

i bought that game

its mine

1 week ago · 8,342 notes · VIA · SOURCE

"Your voice sounds completely different in different languages. It alters your personality somehow. I don’t think people get the same feeling from you. The rhythm changes. Because the rhythm of the language is different, it changes your inner rhythm and that changes how you process everything.

When I hear myself speak French, I look at myself differently. Certain aspects will feel closer to the way I feel or the way I am and others won’t. I like that—to tour different sides of yourself. I often find when looking at people who are comfortable in many languages, they’re more comfortable talking about emotional stuff in a certain language or political stuff in another and that’s really interesting, how people relate to those languages."

Francois Arnaud for Interview Magazine
1 week ago · 13,774 notes · VIA · SOURCE

"If you’re feeling small today I dare you to sit up straighter, look someone who scares you directly in the eye, take up room at the dinner table, make yourself bigger, when ‘sorry’ laps at the back of your tongue, tries to pick up after you, remind yourself that your existence doesn’t demand an apology, that you are allowed to make mess and take up space, do not be afraid to expand. Every single goddamn minute. Expand, expand, expand"

Femme Fatale (x)
1 week ago · 222,067 notes · VIA · SOURCE

Broods, Mother & Father

1 week ago · 3 notes · SOURCE







lol sike catch me playing 2k14 with George Washington and Cleopatra while u afraid to touch some wood

1 week ago · 125,250 notes · VIA · SOURCE

Laundry List

by Michelle Omat

I’m terrible at running errands, going to the post office, 
picking up my dry cleaning. Once I lived in Virginia
for four years before I went to the DMV to get a license.
I didn’t want to give up on California, all its sex and sea
and taco trucks and redwoods and freeways. 
But, Virginia, you can have sex in Virginia too.
My morning walk is on my laundry list of things to do for the day.
I love to walk, but I tend to sit around in my nightgown
and drink coffee until eleven o’clock when it just might start raining. 
I’ll pay the bills then. But not before I take an online poll
casting my vote for who wore Ralph Lauren best. 
I wonder what it is like to have sex with a man who is so tan. 
Skin that tan and old must feel like a disappointment.
I need to wash my hair. I’d like to have sex
in a shower or in a salt water pool or in a clear bottomed bay;
maybe in a dream, because I look dreadful wet. I water the plants, 
run out to buy three or four flats of sexless pink petunias. 
I buy some Drano and pick up paint samples: 
bali kiss, coconut grove, tidewater rise. 
I love putting a stir stick in paint for the first time. 
I haven’t had a first time in a long time. 
I prop myself up on a washing machine
during the spin cycle, wondering if I’ll feel aroused.
Nothing much happens. I probably need an older, less efficient model.
I strip the bed linens, chase after the dog, sew a button onto a cuff. 
I clean the kitchen window so I can see crystal clear the petunias. 
I could have sex in the yard, the wind on my face, 
on my naked back, against blades of grass or sky.
I’d like to have sex with men I don’t know and men I used to know. 
I think of all the sex I could be having when I’m writing
a grocery list, shopping for shallots and radicchio at Whole Foods,
choosing a pork shoulder. The produce manager and I can make a bed
of steel cut oats and flax seeds and paper towels in aisle 8.
Nothing like that ever happens. I think about sex each time I peel
a clove of garlic and heat olive oil in a heavy bottomed pan. 
At the first inhale I’m high and it smells like sex. 
I slice an onion along its God given lines to come down. I’d like
some unnamed man to stand behind me and wash my hands in the sink.

1 week ago · 5 notes