my wolf head tattoo falls to cover one eye, your words engulf my heart. A smear of cyanide sugar upon our lips, it’s a jim jones deju vu. We are drunk on lust and fueled by hate. Bruises colour my shins and a fingertip mark is burnt to each collarbone. I mimic your actions, do only as you do. Yet in the morning those chains around my wrists are back again and you’re walking free.
(via kvsper)
(via beautifull-misery)
(via biteit-youscum)
There is this dream that I keep having. Night after night I fall into its grasp and find myself walking down that same corridor. Doors besides me are as immovable as the walls that hold them. I float along; the panic that builds within me is not echoed in the way I move. My calm exterior to spite my jagged interior. Slowly I can feel my mind splinter and these fragments fall to the floor. I stare at this mess, this broken soul. A piece has caught my wrist on its way down and a crimson bracelet is starting to form. Out I reach towards a door and plant a red handprint against its steel. A give of weight beneath my touch and I walk through, float through. My calm exterior to mirror my free interior.
(via accrual)
(Source: denizs, via wewerenevernormal)
(Source: o-u-t-t-a-l-u-c-k-y, via delicate-fragility)
Blood stained bones litter my floor. I pick my way through this mess upon rising, a well worn path amongst the debris. The sharp edges catch against my ankles, another bruise to add to the score. I like bruises; they echo the trauma of days gone by. Veins however I adore. They are the pathways that carry the foundation of a bruise. This foundation sometimes spills from me onto the floor, a scarlet imprint to brand these bones. I can’t remember where the bones came from; too much wine has darkened my mind. Perhaps they’re from that hazy man, who lay down beside me to wait until I woke. Only I didn’t wake for such a long time and he faded away. Faded until all he was only blood stained bones upon my floor.
(Source: suckingoutmybrains, via dhyonxnightwish666)
(Source: unknownprevailingtaste, via wilt-n-wither)
There’s a blackbird above my head and a black dog at my side. They have been there ever since that day that black cat stalked across my path. Sometimes the bird migrates and sometimes the dog returns to his home. But they always come back to me, time and time again. My most loyal friends, they bring with them the gift of dark. I revel in this, safe away from all the things that are too bright. Such brightness hurts my eyes and unsettles my soul.
(Source: sycophanta)
