Steph. 21. College art student.

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Beetlejuice (1988)

(via macaulay-sulkin)

Antimony: Part 2/9 in a series //  r.i.d (via inkskinned)

he is grass underfoot, you are

god but when his hands connect with your skin
you see constellations and how come one person
can taste so much like both morning cereal and
morning sex you are bright dawn around him,
you are firecracker, fire engine, you are
match and kindling, you are both
going down in history for causing
the highest heartbeats

and you are completely wrong for him because
he’s warm ocean wave and you’re the single tired eye
of a cigarette, he’s thick forest and you’re
desert planet

you build bricks around your body, you
beg him not come in but he is creeping ivy
and determined to wend and
he somehow always lets the sunlight in

you are anxiety’s grandchild, you are always
too-much too-much too-much, too loud, too
angry, too soft to turn away the hands of
lovers who only wanted your stain
on their lips
and all the time you hear
“you’d be fine if you just stopped trying
so hard at it” but careening out of control is
literally the only way you know how to live
so you constantly apologize for
just being terrible enough to

and lately you’ve been feeling that
unattached hatred of your own condition
you are big flashing self-destruct button

but he is storm-breaker, gift-wrap,
good earth and when you ask why he doesn’t
just leave why he doesn’t just spare himself the trouble
of your explosions and headrush-heat and
spur-of-the-moment words you spit
and he takes your hand and promises

you are not burdensome. you are only
worth it.

So how do find yourself again when you mentally checked out a while ago?


Heard you’re doing fine on the outside

Smelling like a fresh picked rose
Me, I’m still mothballs and lost minds
Down on the pavement praying
Trying to make some sense of it

And if you walk by my body
Would you stop to breathe?
Or would you walk by never knowing
That I’m cigarette smoke floating in the glow of the TV

What would you expect from me?

I’m right back where I started
I never lost that first touch dreaming of that one first feeling that convinced me you were leaving


grieves // on the rocks.


Reblog via saatchiart:


Close Up faces by Thomas Saliot

oil on canvas

See Thomas Saliot’s work on Saatchi Art

(via kel-yeah)

Anthony Bourdain  (via blackandwhitemodel)

(Source: durianquotes, via lovurs)

Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.
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