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“She believed in the power of art, not only its beauty and necessity but also the real, raw, actual power of it.”

Twenty two years young.

This is my artwork.

These are my personal posts.

users online

Jul 25 '14
"I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow; but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing."
Agatha Christie
Jul 24 '14
"You keep telling me to be glad for what we had while we had it and that the brightest flame burns quickest. Which means you saw us as a candle and I saw us as the sun."
Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You 
Jul 23 '14
"

The things I write about you are not pretty.

For example: You are the ugly way I feel about Los Angeles, mouth a smear like sunset singed with citrus burns. Hollywood hill is a smashed pomegranate against your scorched teeth. All the stars walk the red carpet while I write sonnets to your mouth. It’s been too long since the last time we spoke, I’ve forgotten what everyone else looks like — your hands are trees made of smog, and they have taken root in my lungs. I wish this city would burn to the ground.

For example: The last time I fell in love, I broke all the dishes in the kitchen and bled out on the floor. You were not good for me. You held the bandaids, but I told you to put them back in the drawer. I loved being so broken for you — your heart was a hospital without the healing. My parents never taught me that being loved for your wounds was wrong.

For example: Tonight, I am falling asleep without you. I’ve had bad dreams ever since we met, things about dark-haired women that die because they never ran fast enough. I never ran fast enough. I’m still learning what it’s like not to find your face etched into the wood of my floorboards, and I’m failing miserably. You were not good for me.

For example: You were not good for me. You were California burning, and my lungs couldn’t take it. You were not good for me. You were a broken spine I couldn’t set; I was a scab you always picked. You were not good for me.

For example: Get out of my poetry, nobody wants to read about the ways we broke. Get out of my poetry, this isn’t about you anymore. This is about Los Angeles and how much I hate the sky. California wasn’t good for me — nothing about dying is pretty.

"
Burn Victim | d.a.s 
Jul 23 '14
"

She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.

She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here.

"
Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders
Jul 23 '14
"I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it’s drenched in sunlight and it’s weightless and I know it’s not cheap. It’s probably not even real."
Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves
Jul 22 '14
Jul 21 '14
"Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final."
Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours 
Jul 21 '14
"She feels in italics and thinks in CAPITALS."
Henry James 
Jul 20 '14
"Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand."
 Sylvia Plath 
Jul 20 '14
Pepita Bobadilla by E.O. Hoppé, 1919

Pepita Bobadilla by E.O. Hoppé, 1919

Jul 20 '14
Emile Hyperion Dubuisson
From the series 'This is the Night', 2012

Emile Hyperion Dubuisson

From the series 'This is the Night', 2012

Jul 20 '14
Jul 20 '14
"One day I just woke up and realized that I can’t touch yesterday. So why the heck was I letting it touch me?"
Steve Maraboli 

(Source: psych-facts)

Jul 20 '14
"I have scars on my hands from touching certain people"
J. D. Salinger 

(Source: wordsnquotes)

Jul 20 '14

captaindwreck:

The edge of the canvas // The pallete of colors after the painting

THIS JUST KILLED ME.