Deadliterarysociety - Edgar Allen Poe's Raven - Tumblr Blog

This time, let it be me. Infact, every time, let it be me. Only me. Let my love drown me, kill me. Let my love prosper you.

dull parchment, yellow lights, pocket watch

i pull out my brush and watercolours

to paint, to pour, to relish.

Eyes like molten nights, lips like cherry imprints

Hair like soft breeze, cheeks like ripe peaches.

But when my brush touched the paper, I sat.

Sat for an eternity.

klutzy, bemused, perplexed, sad.

Every stroke, every shade, every line

exposed my foibles and

blinded me with your magnificence.

What a nitwit!

How does a mere servant create his god?

I would sit for years to come

but how will I ever paint a picture so perfect

for dear, you are my god, my religion.

How does a mere servant create his god?

-deadliterarysociety

a child born in darkness will be forever scared to step out into the sun.

I used to wonder if I would ever witness true love but then I remembered I exist and I love unconditionally. I love with every space in my heart. I love like it's breathing. When I love someone, I open every space in my heart to fill it with their existence. I love the way poets talk about. I have never given up on loving. The intensity of love I have in my heart is overwhelmingly beautiful. I love the way I love. And that's simply enough.

I would cry from the pain of my wounds but then sit for hours scabbing them raw.

He brought me to earth when I was in the deepest depth of hell. My beloved is my god, he is my religion.

maybe in another life my parents had a better child and lived a happier life.

maybe in another life i would be accepted the way I am.

Yesterday, my friend asked me, "What if you turned out like your mother?"

A range of emotions ran like a carousel inside my brain. angry? happy? bitter? MANY. But one emotion that kept me awake at night was guilt.

Guilty for not wanting to be like her but at the same time understanding that she was once a girl with dreams until they were squashed and eventually withered away.

Maybe, we all do turn out like our mothers. The only difference is whether we are willing to learn and accept our mistakes.

always trying the hardest. yet, never good enough.

On days i hate waking up from my bed, your thoughts take me places I never want to visit again.

to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.

//the smiths <3

A Life of Trade

when you grow up in a conditional household where every basic necessity, every specific want has to be earned with an extraordinary job, you grow to starve yourself. Every desire seems to be futile, even something as mundane as wanting a new diary for journal, wanting a new lipstick in replacement for the old damaged one, wanting icecream money on weekends, unless you earn it. You grow to believe that you don't deserve anything for free. You grow to believe that even a pinch of happiness has to be traded with a huge sacrifice. You grow to limit the space you take up, making it smaller and more cramped, just to accommodate others. You grow to put your needs behind, you grow to feed on morsels, you grow to completely lose your worth.

charli really wrote down the lyrics and thought "yeah the girlies would definitely relate"

ironic as it is, i received hate for every ounce of love i craved.

I am a lot of things but I am most definitely a runner. I will leave everything and run away as soon as things start to change.

hope keeps you alive and then kills you in the absolute worst way.

The universe knows I tried, tried and tried.

"I am just a girl", I say as I see my potential being wasted, my capabilities fading and my hobbies dying.

And in their next lives, dear god, gift them a better child. an unbroken child, a child who doesn't love the fire, a child full of love.

"...And you, what would you do for Love?"

Wait.

hope keeps the lamp of the deprived burning.

the starved will feed on anything thrown to them.

hope, a misery hope, the con man, the foxy wizard. years later when they will dig up my bones, my corpse infested with worms and maggots, skeleton grinded to dust, arched toes, cracked rib, they will find a sliver of light shining from the cages. a steel heart still beating with the fuel of hope. still believing never letting it go, holding on to hope; afterall, hope is a con man

// @deadliterarysociety