#nexiliss

the chaotic four who definitely dont deserve rights

(@whorizcn​ & @mshelleys & @semblanche)

the world sits as the sun eats the moon

washing hands of carmine with lurid 

sightings of hearts marching out of chests. 

we are not defined but void skins attempting

to wrap our hands upon the tender parts  of others

we never had the chance to nurture in ourselves.

we take and we do not give , we eat but we do not relish.

we are carrying the errors of our forefathers with 

the deafening of our stomachs.

what is the point of learning when we asphyxiate  our wrists?

what is the point of holding on when god is displeased 

and the mass does not care. 

let the  storm come and tie us to the caves. 

we do not deserve this life. 

@faerisms : INCREDIBLY talented not only at writing but at graphics making too. seriously i love rochelle’s writing style SO much for real!!!

me, knowing someone as talented and creative and brilliant and kind as azka thinks so highly of me:

xxi. a youtube video you find useful, entertaining or relaxing

this ukulele cover of don’t stop me now! her whole channel is so relaxing and i could watch them all day omfg

xxvi. the film you watched most recently that you could watch again and again

skyfall!! its such a good movie on its own, but paired with the rest of the franchise, its easily the best

click here for your edit!

INSPIRATION DUMP / @nexiliss / @syposium.  thank you!

                                         a selection of short ( short) stories.

i. hilted  and arranged on the battlefield you still as eyes find her. in your circumference  time breaks backward haling you into her embrace. you had been a jagged arena on which she strode. leaving you in the cloying fragrance of whispers from which she sank into you. a salvation now made into the one thing that would kill you.  for even if you survived the loss of her would not allow you many days. for though you would wear patriotism, the horror of killing the woman you loved would string you up.

ii. she had mistranslated him. thought his distance a masculine ploy, forgetting he was just as much human as her and in that he unraveled, leaving an everlasting mark upon her bedroom walls.

iii. they meet in the night /  he could have had them in day / but they became his brother’s significant other / for he had lied his own attraction away.

iv. the are prayers being made into currents. women who bare uses, and men who collect the goods passed down from weighted hips.  and so  one thanks luck, while the other implores judgment. 

iv. the house creases under the hands of its person. there is a whole delight in knowing your worthy of memories. 

v. calloused fingers sting sana’s back. hollowing out the core establishments of her youth. at age 15 you’d think her double her age but when her mother lacerated herself by thin liquor kisses , over the early death of her evolution, sana had to quickly learn how  to fit into her mother's skin. 

vi. the first kiss was like a conflagration. it ate every sector of your body and over-grew your bones into ivy pressing you both into one.  the first touch was a prayer he’d made, at the altar of your skin, and he had  spread wide to clamor his devotion against each particle before his heart imploded within his chest. you both wear the face of abbadon, forging morning stars and throwing angles out of their station.  you were to be new gods , more vivid than zeus and his pantheon a fantastical fever striking ecstasy in every glance.