That Truly Lifegiving Cup Of Steamy Tea In The Morning

PERSEPHONE Tell me darkness is all you’ve ever tasted. Tell me my lips are like ambrosia from Olympus.  Tell me this body is made of moon beams. Tell me the stars are woven in my hair. HADES Tell me your hands crave the feel of my fingers. Tell me that loving a monster is knowing the monster is nothing but a man. Tell me oblivion is not enough to tear you from me. Tell me the journey down to hell was worth it.

Things They Want to Hear // L.H.Z (via lhzthepoet)

I. What a tragedy it is Two lonely beings Knitted together By neither desire nor love Only pain And cruel destiny And the seed of a pomegranateII. What a tragedy it is A daughter of life Of flowers, of soft spring and sweet summer Forever sentenced to be deprived Of melancolic autumn and frosty winter It isn’t fair But then again Life rarely isIII. And he Prince of the dead, first son of time Ever dark and alone Has anyone ever wondered If he was lonely Down in his quiet home Has anyone ever wondered If he wanted to reign On what his brothers had left him(IV. Two opposite souls Brought together by silent fate It is no tragedy Simply what was supposed to happen As fire and water dance As day and night merge Knitted together Creating a love Made of thorns and sunflowers Creating a love Made for legends and eternity)

2am mythology poetry; some people just deserve a happy ending (via moreofachaserr)

X lovers

Dance

The thing about dance is that you’re never really good enough. There’s always something to improve. It’s great because you can always get better, but it’s also a sad thought. Once you manage a pirouette it’s time to do a double pirouette. Once you can do a split, it’s time for oversplits. I don’t think people who doesn’t dance can understand it. You’re never done, you’re never good enough and you can always get better.

// celestial beings//

Her x

“Her eyes, a labyrinth even Theseus cannot escape.”

-DY // an eight word story // I am hopelessly lost, even with Ariadne’s string

Ballet x

Leonore Baulac, Stephane Bullion

#WeirdNorwegianFacts

In Norwegian we don’t say married we say “gift” which also translates to poison, and I think that is beautiful

I will crave running barefoot through the grass or over the dancefloor whenever I slip into pretty shoes I don't mind pretty things, but I love wild things

Messy thoughts on paper