“Fire painted the scars on my stomach,
My navel has shut like a fan.
I tug dead skin off like threads
Of balsa wood.
My lips are filigreed with ash.
I am filled with you.
Your name, etched by a candle’s
Warm, pliant red wax,
Coats each flake of my skin.
My scars weave up,
Spelling your name
Over my pores
And blades of hair.
New skin licks the scabs off,
And I mold you in again.”
— “Threads,” Esté Yarmosh (via clavicola)
(via alightthatnevergoesout)
• 20 April 2012 • 96 notes
“I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.”
— Ferdinand von Schrubentaufft (via sherriserendipity)
(Source: salveo, via alightthatnevergoesout)
• 20 April 2012 • 16,156 notes
“Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.”
— Sylvia Plath, from “Fever 103°” (via proustitute)
(via alightthatnevergoesout)
• 20 April 2012 • 360 notes
“I’m a slave to my emotions, to my likes, to my hatred of boredom, to most of my desires.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald. (via libertineromance)
(Source: bohemeextreme, via libertineromance)
• 19 April 2012 • 555 notes
80s-90s-supermodels:
“Tres Chere Cindy”, Paris Match France, September 1989
Photographer : Yann Gamblin
Model : Cindy Crawford
(via tenuously)
• 18 April 2012 • 2,308 notes
“I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love,
and how you gave me everything you had
and how I offered you what was left of me.”
— Charles Bukowski (via moldavia)
(Source: andwhisper, via alightthatnevergoesout)
• 18 April 2012 • 15,060 notes
“We would have to run away, we would have to leave behind everything but each other.”
— Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated (via bookmania)
(via alightthatnevergoesout)
• 18 April 2012 • 553 notes
“We’ll meet you on some corner. I’ll be the man smoking two cigarettes.”
— The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald (via lamuserevoltee)
(via yawnyatheapocalypse)
• 16 April 2012 • 33 notes