Detail of Head of a Woman with the Horns of a Ram (1853), by Jean LĂŠon GĂŠrĂ´me.

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Detail of Head of a Woman with the Horns of a Ram (1853), by Jean LĂŠon GĂŠrĂ´me.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Strawberry Mob is best Mob
long time no see, yall ;D what are the big fandoms these days i gotta make some fanart i need the inspo
a snaked tongued cowardice curls into my empty belly. call it a viper, call it venom.
this swallowed silence echoes in my throat, reminds me of all the poems i never wrote, the ones i could never bring myself to write.Â
i was already born with a broken heart so i had no tears to cry. i shouldâve done this months ago-
cut the tongue out, left the teeth marks.Â
- Shouldâve Done This Months Ago (S.L.)

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commission for @austronaught-icecream!
The female equavalant of âmorning woodâ , would be âmorning dewâ.
I doodled this out a while ago but itâs always at least a little relevant to life.
thin fingers grasp at broken bottle necks. liquid spills past jagged edges to resonate with the rosy warmth of your mouth. cover your eyes,  and imagine something like that home you cut your lips on.Â

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me, reading my tarot cards: whatâs up today fuckers
cards: I see you havenât fixed your life yet bitch
i. eyes soft, they breathe: water tumbling over rocks like silk falling from their hands, that milky froth that rises around slippery feet.        as the tide falls, it drags you underneath.Â
ii. you canât feel your feet against the floor, against carpet, wood,                  against rocks, against rocks --- the rush of blood leaves your fingers cold and the sun bursting through your temples.      everything quakes. ( youâre not sure if itâs the world around you                  or you, yourself. )          but still those eyes, soft, appear to you, and they breathe:             look at me. even if itâs a mirage of me,             be fooled by me. just be okay for me.Â
stargaze till pale flowers bloom under your eyelids till roses grow against the dusky glow of your cheeks for you are soft as supple silk and all of Paris couldnât rein in your laughter
venera /Â name poetry ; no more please. (via versaillcs)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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⌠rusted metal, blood wrapping around the head of a train, and I want to blame all sadness on the moonâitâs red meat dangling above us.
Kayleb Rae Candrilli, from âCrescent Line #20 and the Blood Moon Is Still on Usâ published in Beech Street Review (via lifeinpoetry)
shit got me reinvigorated for that hidekane iâM alive againÂ