Silent tears through the
night
What makes you think that
my sight
Would miss all this
Fights

You can’t see through
my eyes
All the tears I hide
Inside
Of all the years that
has passed

I don’t need to say
Don’t think I wanna stay
I don’t belong on this way
Some things hurt more than
We can say.

Ary Leal, Some things hurt more than we can say

(Source: messages4u)

erikwahlstrom:

I shot Chloe Norgaard for Monki SS14. Out now worldwide.
irynka:

kidlove:


I love this.


again w/ my source tho

and he said

let me ask you something
are you happy
and i laughed
a sad, treacherous cry
and he said

let me tell you something

kill everything that
stops your dreaming
kiss the blue hunger
devouring your chest
poison the demons
that suffocate you
pull the weeds that
stop the red flowers
paint your soul in
the shade of the
moon, in the rays
of the sunshine

and he said

do not be
afraid

9:48 PM  (via irynka)
Bem me quer
Mal me quer
Repetia para a flor
Como se a pobrezinha
Decidisse algo sobre o amor. Leminski (via seanwilhelm)

(Source: s-i-m-p-l-i-f-i-c-a-r)

when i was 14 i read in some
magazine that it was better off to be alone
and up until the age of 26 i
thought that sounded beautiful

then after work one day i took
the wrong bus home on purpose
i liked to surprise myself like that
do something little and see
someone new and on that bus
i met a 43 year old women with
red hair who told me about a
man she fell in love with when
she was 17 and that his death
in 96’ made her lose her mind
she bought sleeping pills and
drowned her throat with vodka
i thought that sounded beautiful

i got off on the seventh stop
and stole red lipstick from
the local drugstore with old
flashing lights because i
couldn’t remember that fear
tasted rotten and painfully dry

i walked three blocks and
bought myself a burger at
some little cafe called Sally’s
and i told the cashier that her
smile was the sun kissing seas

i smoked a cigarette with
a man who wore a suit and
told me he was a lawyer
and graduated this and that
but still ended up back here

here

what a word, i thought
here once more,
then never
again

i thought that sounded beautiful

poems from my uncles grave (via irynka)

you said you didn’t like poets who wrote about the moon
you said

cherries are better than red lipstick
rotten fruit isn’t poetic
the sky lives in your purple bruises

you said
paint yourself with magenta, don’t wash your hair
with the same raw shampoo, it’ll make you think you’re the
same person you were when
he left you

you said
tell someone about the time you threw up cake at
your 14th birthday
party, the one where Anna wore a
yellow dress and your mother called her
more beautiful

when someone writes like they’re on drugs,
you said
fuck them hard to Mozart’s No. 6 and tell
them you think you see constellation in
their eyes and sadness in their broken soul

you said when you feel the holes in
your black heart, you have to smile and think
this is it

this
is it
this is what it’s like to feel tortured

how morbid

but you said, then find someone who is
willing to spill themselves into your swollen emptiness

you said,
stop waiting for someone to electrocute your spine,
to linger on your scars like burning alcohol, to bleed
into your mouth their wet tongues

instead, you said,
electrocute them
linger and then you said,

bleed

confessions from my alcoholic mother  (via irynka)

he was the boy
in math class
who wrote poetry about your
naked wrists
and
how you pronounced the word
“leisure”

he said the sun was trying to crawl inside of his skin
he thought the rain stuck to car windows like magnets
you were convinced he was making music with his words

do you hear the rain? he would ask
only to reply
that’s the laughter of
blue birds

you wore cherry lip balm when his tongue
traced the outline of your bleeding lips,

brown tangerines would rot in the fridge
when you fought about distance too much,

when he told you, that the only bright side
of having an abusive father was never
being afraid when someone chewed his
name like it was rubber and black bruises,
you let him fuck you in the back of his car
and then cried when he said thank you
for making his name sound like doves
being let out of their cage for the first time

and so when he left,
you
woke up

you flinched when people said your name,
you cried in bathtubs filled with steaming
water, you screamed when people said
“i’m sorry” and laughed when people told
you to “grow up” and “move on”, you painted
your soul using the color red only, you
asked people for cigarettes that you would
toss into the ocean later, when your
grandmother asked you to come to church
you smoked pot in her kitchen and made
her a strawberry cake, your bones ached,
your heart felt heavy, and it was only when
you finished reading this poem that you
finally understood-
understand,
that pain is the only thing that makes you truly
alive

i’m sorry it had to end like this  (via irynka)