Your remorse hasn’t fallen on deaf ears rather ones that just don’t care cause I know that you’re in between arms somewhere next to heartbeats where you shouldn’t dare sleep

What have I become, my sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away in the end
And you could have it all, my empire of dirt
I will let you down, I will make you hurt

If I could start again a million miles away
I would keep myself, I would find a way.

(Source: living-in-decibels, via blith3)

(Source: sailorsknot-sailorsmouth, via sproutedflowers)

(Source: eyeballbytch, via teenager-with-blog)

"I’m not going to censor myself to comfort your ignorance."

— Jon Stewart (via treymis)

(Source: ghostisborn, via junkof-the-heart)

I want to live surrounded by the constant presence of purple trees. Not drug induced purple, but the kind of lavender that appears when the slight pink shade of blossoming trees at springtime is dimly illuminated by the combination of the setting sun’s golden light and the empty blue skies beginning to darken in hue.

(Source: laurencristine007, via conscious-findings)

"Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay."

— Robert Frost “Nothing Gold Can Stay” (via zephyrstorm)

"

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

"

—

—  ”The Road Not Taken”, Robert Frost

(via meltxmyxheartxtoxstone)

the astounding tide crashes upon the soul of it’s innocent witness

without warning, except for the foreboding howl of eastern winds

drained of their breath, they seem to acquire the inability to maneuver

a lack of will, lack of strength, lack of desire to even attempt to

the witness stands like a cemented brick, vertical tall and strong

but with what reason? he can get away with ease

the waves continue crashing with no cease in sight

and the witness appears to take it without dread, joy, satisfaction;

only a hint of a smirk

ominous and burning.

I have many dreams that take place on an ocean beach. sometimes the ocean is light and happy and sometimes it is dark and happy and sometimes it has huge crashing waves increasing in size and the amount of people vary but it feels like the same beach every time

pro-zac:

what a lovely poem

(Source: imgfave, via pass-that)

I JUST WANNA SCREAM. AND CRY. I NEVER WANT TO CRY ANYMORE.