flock of synopsis

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headlikealamb:

snow is the second best thing god created

headlikealamb:

snow is the second best thing god created


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may your soul
rest in pieces of
memories that died
while they glittered
in the sky, up in
your mind - you
occasionally thinking
they’re still alive.
a past tense reminisced -
they’re dead.

the end.


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do you know me?
the way i clutter
my mind with thoughts
and the fear of time -
the way i cry when
the moment is all wrong.
the way i devour guilt
and on my worst days,
hope its poison kills me.

do you know me?
the way i stagger in
my moments, the way
my mental compass
always leads me away
from home - the way
it gets me lost at sea…

do you?


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how long have you traveled  a l o n e ?

                     p e r h a p s   i   n e v e r   h a v e 

didn’t anyone ever tell you? fear is a superpower. fear can make you faster and cleverer and stronger. And one day you’re going to come back to this barn and on that day you’re going to be very afraid indeed. But that’s okay, because if you’re very wise and very strong, fear doesn’t have to make you cruel or cowardly. fear can make you kind. it doesn’t matter if there’s nothing under the bed, or in the dark. so long as you know it’s okay to be afraid of it. So listen, if you listen to nothing else listen to this. you’re always going to be afraid, even if you learn to hide it. fear is like a companion. a constant companion, always there. but it’s okay. because fear can bring us together. fear can bring you home.  f e a r   m a k e s   c o m p a n i o n s   o f   u s   a l l .

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reblog more hipsterstatic tumblr posts.

don’t think for yourself.

but remember that you’ll never be anyone else.

develop yourself, or assassinate your true persona.


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i know
we could linger
on the breath of night
and live forever, in a
beautiful corruption
of sorts - trying to make
peace with our demons,
coexisting, as they meet
the angels that have saved
our grace; the last of the
dying breed. i believe in us.
the paths we will create on
the fumes of the afterlife
of something that might have
been only well lived through
the eyes of us. i refuse to
forget the comfort of your embrace
and the smell of your skin; the way
your veins expressed themselves
while i was cradled in
the protection of your arms,
and the way you would kiss my forehead when we would sing
the words just wrong enough
to bring tears. but we’d never skip
a beat. and the chorus was littered
with a happiness i would never deny.

you’re the golden years of blue hue
and a dangerous delight.


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I looked at everyone and wondered where they came from, and who they missed, and what they were sorry for.
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

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langleav:

Dreams by Michael Faudet

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And then one day after being fucked up for months I realized something


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