wow. 
TiredI am a drawn back breath of sweet summer air,a forewarned pigment of painful despair.I'm the girl that hides behind her books, the one with the ink-stained hands and plain jane looks. I'm intense at absorbing anything new,yet sometimes i am misunderstood by a few.I'm open-hearted with widening eyes,what i hate the most are premature goodbyes. Thinking outside the box is how my mind clicks, i don't spend the day thinking about lipsticks. I'm not perfect but i try to be real, a soul not pure will eventually be revealed. Anything else you'd like to know, feel free to ask. |
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Matter of MysteryMatter of Mystery
From where the rain sprung is a subject of mystery, and how it flows through all of life from beginning to eternity. How heavy the rain fell on that melancholy day, from burdened clouds stained of anguished gray. We sought shade under the trees, running towards sheds where the rain couldn't harm our sensibilities. Rain drops fall from heaven, and we wonder when we will be alright, we've become so weak that we cannot even put up a fight. Due to its beauty, we begin losing our minds, our only wish being that we could simply unwind. The rain that falls is wet and cold, this rain will break us free of our stronghold. And yet, we kno
by =dazzledust
About me. I am a drawn back breath of sweet summer air,a forewarned pigment of painful despair.I'm the girl that hides behind her books, the one with the ink-stained hands and plain jane looks. I'm intense at absorbing anything new,yet sometimes i am misunderstood by a few.I'm open-hearted with widening eyes,what i hate the most are premature goodbyes. Thinking outside the box is how my mind clicks, i don't spend the day thinking about lipsticks. I'm not perfect but i try to be real, a soul not pure will eventually be revealed.About me.
by =dazzledust
Autumn dreamsAutumn dreams
Each morning i rise to the damp and dewy air, and i am welcomed by a sight that is so rare.Autumn is when we first met, that time of year i can never forget. Autumn is when the trees are brown, and the little leaves come tumbling down. As the leaves fall, they whisper of tragedies long past, of spells that were cast and hearts trespassed. Then the wind comes gusting by, and blows them all towards the sky. As they soar through the open skies, they dance and sing while saying goodbyes. Can you feel it? Autumn dreams are swirling through the air, with a grace and beauty that cannot compare. The sun then begins to shed i
by =dazzledust
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raphael does photography, too!
You're welcome! :]
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Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief. They steal their inspiration and sing about their grief.
Thank you!
<3
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Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief. They steal their inspiration and sing about their grief.
No, thank you! :]
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Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief. They steal their inspiration and sing about their grief.
Take care and enjoy your week.
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¤·.¸¸.·*×» Sarah Jane «×*·.¸¸.·¤
Real integrity is doing the right thing, knowing that nobody's going to know whether you did it or not.
You're very welcome, you deserve it! <3
Thank you! :]
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Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief. They steal their inspiration and sing about their grief.
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~<3
Thank you!
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Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief. They steal their inspiration and sing about their grief.
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