“A Lover’s Fancy Is As Creative As A Poet’s, And When Once It Takes Hold Of Any Idea, It Clings

“I have but one passion ; it swallows up every other ; it dwells with my darling books, and is fed by the treasures of beauty and wisdom which they contain.”

— Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Lodore

KNITTED2

Boy you are caught in the threads of your own 

Thoughts. 

You can’t break through, no. 

You trip and stumble over these knitted paths, 

They lead you somewhere dark- somewhere distant. 

You’ve fallen down the rabbit hole with only the 

String as rope to get you out. 

You try to reach, but do you really? 

Excuses excuses are all that’s ever heard. 

Your ball of yarn is lost and you can’t even get out 

Of bed. 

i love you because i don’t know how to love myself

because it’s so much easier than loving myself

So they are hazel.

The gleam in your eyes, the way the sun hits them, and 

Makes you shine. 

Your smile- 

It beams with life. 

I’d love to see you dance, to see your body fly. 

You say you can’t sing, and that you’d wish you took 

Singing lessons as a kid, 

But darling your voice is a river, and it flows and flows 

And flows, 

Sure, you’re not peaceful, my chaotic little sunshine, 

I love the way you toss and turn throughout the 

Night. You’re blindingly breathtaking. Every word that 

Leaves your mouth is passionately formed from your soul 

And mind. 

You’re a mess. 

Not to be cliche- but a beautiful mess. You astonish me 

With every move you make.

Your laughter is honey to my ears. 

You make me listen, and see peacefully for once. 

Dear hazel eyes,  please don’t leave my side. 

You already know it hurts. 

Which is why you’re material for my words 

The word that was once life are now words 

On a screen, that you’ll never even see.

everyone: what's your goal in life?

me: to write a story so soul snatching, so gut wrenching and so devastatingly beautiful that it leaves you crying at 3am when you have a 8am lecture/shift and it inspires people to write entire essays, to write entire fanfics, mood boards and playlists based on it.

It’s crazy how low self-worth fucks with peoples lives

Thinking about... Grieving the undead.

let’s just stop time so i can read all my books without real life interfering 

WORDS FROM THE HALLWAY

She had spun herself a web- not one of lies nor of truth- 

Just a sticky situation to let others come into 

It’s quite strange, to be a bird like her

For words and songs aren’t always heard

She declares her faith to one admirer 

But the nest and the next she has no desire. 

Birds can’t speak but she’s a flyer.

Watch her dive, watch her drive, 

Watch her spin her web of crimes. 

Watch those tears fall down others' faces, 

Will she stop and slow her pace? 

Twig legs no longer there, 

She’s disgusted and caught in her hair. 

Dare she move once more? Fuck those birds and slam the door.