play it in your mind like a movie:

the boys with their shaved heads
and angel wing tattoos,
they weave silk that strangles leaves.
using the sun as a lighter, they burn their bundles,
warm smoke wrapping around them
like mothers used to.
this is home to them.

one, with his with green eyes and plastic hands
thinks that he has found god,
it leaves scars on his arms, and warm light in his veins,
“mother,” he prays, “don’t let the devils take me”
his breath is sweet from wine and his lover’s tongue.
“mother,” he prays, “let your feathers fall down,
string them unto me, carry me up, love me, love me,
i’ll never be happy here.”

these boys were taught
that a life is to be lived short but violently bright,
emotion is sewn into every encounter,
every lonely bike ride down the pine forest road,
every girl they let touch them softly,
it is all a montage to them,
this world and it’s narcissism,

they scream into the void, “love me”
they scream into their father’s hands,
their collapsing veins, “love me”
they scream into each other, the scattered stars, “love me”
they scream into their cigarettes,
their glass bottles, and paper hearts
“lull me into the sea,
because i am weak and worthless
and no one will miss me”

they’re wilting like the peonies in july,
singing “love me” to the world
and hearing nothing back
except the echo of

- blue boys, gr

(Source: oculara)


this is actually me rn

To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things: to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

- Mary Oliver, from In Blackwater Woods (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via commovente)


Love Will Tear Us Apart handwritten by Ian Curtis.

Kaya Scodelario
Oh rascal children of Gaza. You who constantly disturbed me with your screams under my window. You who filled every morning with rush and chaos. You who broke my vase and stole the lonely flower on my balcony. Come back, and scream as you want and break all the vases. Steal all the flowers. Come back.. Just come back..
- Khaled Juma, a Palestinian poet from Gaza. (via nowinexile)

More than 600 Palestinians are no longer with us in the space of 14 days, 25% of whom were children. May God bless the little darlings and may He grant their parents sabr. (via standwithpalestine)

(via weedem0n)

Imagine a room,
a sudden glow. Here is my hand, my heart,
my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated
cities at the center of me, and here is the center
of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we
can drink from, but I can’t go through with it.
I just don’t want to die anymore.
- "Saying Your Names," Richard Siken (via man-eatingcat)