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ellievsbear
Game of Thrones Daily
AnasAbdin
h
sheepfilms

JBB: An Artblog!
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Misplaced Lens Cap
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
almost home
KIROKAZE
trying on a metaphor

blake kathryn

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
we're not kids anymore.
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
dirt enthusiast

seen from Türkiye

seen from Poland

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seen from United Kingdom
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@enecrivant
Currently working on updating my master list links because a lot of them are broken

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“Interstellar”
“Interstellar”
So you see a universe in my eyes,
wax poetic on the rise and fall of my skin
that you say mirror those smooth curves of the earth.
I know from the way
your arms sit on either side of me
that I cannot collapse in on myself.
The thoughts that live and die inside me,
wild and whirling matter screaming as they burn,
are apparently too precious to waste.
You see worlds in me, yes,
and never your own reflection
despite the eons you spend looking into me
when we lay so close
that when I inhale,
you exhale,
I yearn to breathe into your ear,
beckon you
to peer just a bit closer,
find the reflection of your own eyes,
blinding as sunlight and twice as hot
like the fire I know,
I feel, rages in your lungs
chars your lips
so your kisses make me dizzy
with the smell of smoke.
From you, I know the words
sparking off my tongue
are as glaring as sunspots,
and twice as bright.
Yet you never hear your own voice,
see it gathering stardust.
If one night
I told you
your eyes reach even farther back than mine,
into infinity,
If I claimed
to see a universe so vibrant
with the color and shine of your smile
that I cry,
would you believe me?
“Burst”
“Burst”
Your breath weighs heavy on my skin,
leaving bruises that hiss
as I flex upward
against your gaze,
your eyes
fading in and out
in rhythm with the pulsing
of your chest,
slowly beating another mark into skin
constantly tinted with purples and blues.
My body is forever a spectrum
of all hues,
light to dark,
colors pooling
in the indentation
of knuckles
or the shallows of skin
beneath my fingers.
I am your own personal lightshow.
“Hunger pangs”
“Hunger pangs”
So in the pains racketing up my arm,
in the fluttering of my eyes,
I have to find love for myself?
I doubt it’s there,
sugar-coated sentiments
swept away with the nightly tide
because everything hurts,
but the pain tastes so sweet
I can’t push it away.
It’s all I’m tasting, anyway.
“Reel”
“Reel”
Fitting how the words that stumble and fall
rather than dive
from the edges of our mouths,
leave the biggest bruises when they land,
skin to skin.
Falling around fingers instead of through them,
bursting blood vessels
that can’t be stitched back together
by clumsier apologies.

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“Shine on me”
“Shine on me”
Show some light to this life
who has scrabbled in the darkness,
for a break in its facade for too long.
Imperfect understanding is often more dangerous than ignorance.
J.K. Rowling, Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them (via wordsnquotes)
Fleurdelivre -------> enecrivant
A writer does not recklessly shove words together without a second thought. A writer takes the time to compose each sentence into a sweeping symphony of tempo and rhythm, notes and rests, dips and swells, buildup and release. A writer teases and tickles each word, coaxing them out one by one to carefully lay them where they belong. A writer elopes in a grand love affair with his words, and he respects their power and grace enough to allow them to run wild, so that they might bloom into something breathtaking. A writer loves words enough to know he is not their master, but their companion and confidante, and he knows that his only job is to gently awaken them and watch them shine.
Z.M. (via wnq-writers)
I made some writerly valentines wow some of them came out pretty naughty.

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I’ve been holding onto this since Christmas
~~~~~~~~~
As flower petals rust and crumble
into ground with its back
arched so tightly against the wind
that it cracks,
I spy little lights just trailing the dusk
they give off violent,
acidic kisses of peppermint
like that one distant relative
whose name I shall never know
but claims to have known me
since I was the height
of the stooped tree in the front yard
huddled in a blue blanket
I AM TOO BUSY TO BE HAVING ANOTHER EXISTENTIAL CRISIS
Words crawl like maggots under my skin
but they can’t escape
because my mouth is closed for repairs
my brain shuttered
as I try to discern
why it is running so slowly
why they only nibble against
the inside of my skin
too weak to make a proper hole
amongst my congealing pores
if they don’t fall off the tip of my tongue
and shatter
at the base of my throat first
why they hiss on contact
with open and and sunlight
when all they need to do
is breathe
to live.
For me, writing is like breathing-necessary, inevitable. Despite that, it is not always easy. Sometimes the words get stuck at the edges of my mouth and have to sit there until I find a cohesive structure for them on paper.
The smell of vinyl seeps from my walls
scratched into the air from a needle
scraping over every record with the bite of concrete meeting skin
It’s a scent as pungent as blood
being swallowed and spat up by infertile ground-
It’s unworthy of this earth,
and unworthy of my air,
but unlike the earth
I am weak
so it lingers in my pores
and in my lungs
until I’m black with rot
indistinguishable from the space around me,
stinking with the scent of spoiled voices warbling in pain under the eye of the needle
gouging through synthetics and wood into skin that, now broken
makes way for decomposing sound waves

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I don’t yet feel corporeal here
I’m still expecting my hair
to snag
on a tendril of wind
to whisk me back home
Where the sweet smell
of familiar air
will flow through my lungs
and return my skin
to color again.
Writing is therapy for the soul.
tobiojo (via wnq-writers)