good music, good times. stuck in my own fantasy.

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a study in scarlet
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folkpunkband:

TEQUILA SHOTS IM FUCK INAFG LAUGHING
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uglypnis:

Jenny Saville
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late night thoughts bringing me down

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fruitgod:

Glow x
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vintageandsparkles:

if me in my entirety is a galaxy, baby its yours to hold in the palms of your hands.

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I remember your collarbone, forming the tiniest
satellite dish in the universe, your smile
as the place where parallel lines inevitably crossed.

Now dinosaurs freeze to death on your shoulder.

I remember your eyes: fifty attack dogs on a single leash,
how I once held the soft audience of your hand.

I’ve been ignored by prettier women than you,
but none who carried the heavy pitchers of silence
so far, without spilling a drop.

-Jeffrey McDaniel, from “Letter to the Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back” (via cotardchild)

(Source: oofpoetry, via cotardchild)

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The aliens watch as
two humans go to a talent show
and sit in the back row.
One of them is sobbing and the
other one moves further away.
Peculiar, the aliens think,
noticing a loud hum.

When the show is over,
both humans applaud along with everyone else.
The hum gets quieter as they
get up to leave, and the aliens
notice that they’re both crying, now.

Slowly, finally, the silhouette
of their bodies melts into one.

A quiet symphony. No hum.

The aliens compile a list of facts
to take back home with them:

1. The space between two people
has a voice.
2. Crying sounds like singing.
3. Bravery looks like a stage.
4. They clap their hands because they
are looking for an excuse to hold
them.

-Caitlyn Siehl, The Aliens (via alonesomes)

(via thecatladykelsey)