Unearthed Hearts


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Losing oneself in the spiral of poetry and colossal thoughts.
https://hellopoetry.com/Blue_orchid/

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Music crystallized the room, classic and soulful, with its own heart that beat life in to the event. Belonging was a struggle in a class of elites, who understood wealth in a way unlike her simple mind could comprehend. She walked in with nothing in her arms except the outlandish grace of beauty that never seemed to disappoint everyone except her. She floated between their eyes, vibrant in white with a dove feather finishing, a familiar in a strange world.


She saw him on a painting, but of course she did. He was art was he not? A perfectly aligned patternless ornate that dimmed the flair of everything else in the room. She saw him through the peephole, too small for real sight to be formed but the heart sees what the eyes could not. She felt him in a way the distance would not allow and nothing ever seemed to be as important as the art on the painting that contained him.


Was it strange that he gained life when he felt her eyes on him? His fingers slipped out of the boundary of the four walls that contained his quintessence for it was not needed. He saw what he was protecting, the most important part of him, meant nothing compared to what he saw in the fire gaze that was her eyes. He walked out and at the same time pulled her in to a world unbeknown by the powerful simpletons surrounding them, for in their eyes everything felt as if it had less to no importance.


The music played in the background “dance….dance….dance…..” with a beat that rocked the mansion. It felt as if it had a soul of its own and it caressed the very hearts of the crowed except him. Him. Him. The god of the room. He watched with devouring attention. He looked with a sight that seared the walls and cracked the ceiling. He had never before wanted anything as much as he did now as he watched them lose themselves in each other. It was not of love, no, not at all or of devotion, or anything that was of this world for he was beyond the simplest of human like feelings. Yet he felt jealousy and it burned the core that ignited the life in him. It was never about love, love for her or for him, his perfect painting but of having his creations under his bounds. Everything was made to worship him, just him for what else could disserve it.


He came with a roar, with a dagger, with wrong intentions, with power to destroy; and it moved past her, past the boundary, past the four walls he made himself and found a home in his paintings heart. The dagger never left and the feet never held as they both crumbled to the floor. The room fell silent as if it was at a loss to cry out its pain because that was all there was, pain. She screamed, a scream that could not be explained except one packed with agony. She screamed like it was not him who had been stabbed but her, and not her flesh but whatever it was that roamed her shell, sparking life inside her. She screamed not for her but for him and wailed and she wept and fell apart under his feet.


For he had murdered the very thing in him she ever loved.

Inspired by #indila_derniere_dance and #tourner_dans_le_vide


Everything about you tells a beautifully sad story and nothing about you I will ever get enough of.


I'll sit and watch your car burn
With the fire that you started in me
But you never came back to ask it out
Go ahead and watch my heart burn
With the fire that you started in me
But I'll never let you back to put it out

#watch






Mirror Mirror...
Mirror mirror on the wall
Am I too short? Am I too tall?
Mirror mirror do you care?
About my clothes, About my hair?
Mirror mirror can you see?
The perfect woman I'm obsessing to be

Too skinny, too fat,
Too frumpy when I'm sat,
Untamed messy hair
Too pale when I'm bare
Circles beneath my eyes
Out of proportion for my size
Forever appearing rough
Will I ever be good enough?


Mirror mirror you ignite self rejection,
Every single time I judge my reflection
Mirror mirror I think that you lied
As you never reflect the beauty inside.

#by_A




















Репост из: Soul Writers
                Narcissism

  I want him to know me. I want him to know all of me. I want him to know how I feel when I'm feeling it and why. I want him to go out of his way for me. I want him to show me what it means to be committed. I want him to sit across the table with no words exchanged and understand my needs. I want him to devour my whole being.

  I want every touch of mine to electrocute him. I want him to feel even the slightest brush. I want to move a certain way and have his attention. I want to have his attention regardless. I want his whole world to start and end with me. I want my interaction with other guys to not be completely okay. I want him to hold me and not let go.

  I want him to drop everything and come to me when I ask him to. I want him to try and bend over backwards if I hint at him to. I want him to do the impossible because I need him to. I want him to know what to do because I never do. I want him to be a part of me. I want him to let me be a part of him. Most of all, I want him to be him.

  Is this narcissism I'm experiencing? Is this worship or true love?


By: @ChrissyT


God bless us everyone
We're a broken people living under loaded gun
And it can't be outfought
It can't be outdone
It can't be outmatched
It can't be outrun


We left the light that's ordinary from the start
We look for stranger things
'Cause that's just who we are
Found me the edges something beautiful than love
Like I'm picturing now


There are a million ways to laugh. It could be from the heart, tickled by the moment’s mysterious joyful instance, you laugh like it was the first time you ever discovered how to laugh. You don’t care what it would look like to others because this is your occasion. Sometime it seems dizzying how perfect that instantaneous period could become stretching in to light years and when you finally stop and sigh there is a little pain in your abdomen, a sting that reminds you what you felt was real and it was powerful enough to leave a memento.


Sometimes it isn’t as eccentric; it passes as fast as it came but still manages to leave a spark in your heart. When later you’re alone, you remember that moment and it awards you with an unexpected grin, one you never knew you had on until your hands check if it was real or see people looking at you strange from having that on your face while still alone.


And other times, it’s just a stretching of lips, showing a spark of teeth but nothing more. The happiness does not reach your eyes and they don’t shine with unexpected fervor. It’s more painful to hold it in place than it was to create it, more exhausting until you feel your face isn’t yours anymore but a stranger’s that inhibited your body, a guest in your own skin. But they never do tell, do they? They never tell the difference because you have gotten so good at those hidden appearances, in fact, you’re too much of an expert for even yourself to tell.


But there is only one way to cry because sorrow is a shared event. Tears aren’t strangers to every face that ever was and each has bled them at one time or another. There is one way to cry for sadness is universal. And perhaps realizing this will make you fell less alone, less like you are the only person standing by a cliff, wondering if the dive would be long enough to kill you. Or perhaps it’ll sadden you, knowing in the instant sadness wiped the happiness out of your heart, a million other people all around the world are possibly having the same exact feeling. But either way, soothing or not, we are all connected by that glimmer of melancholy that harbor in all of us, only the level differs.



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