Between Black & White, Gray

st-roch

Musée des Beaux Arts Marseille, France 10:27 a.m / 27 ° (prolly)

Jacques-Louis David (French painter) - 1748, Paris, FR St-Roch intércedant la Vierge pour la guérison des pestifecés Saint Roch Interceding with the Virgin for the Plague-Stricken

from old english 'martyr', late latin 'martyr' & doric greek 'martyr'; a witness, a proof, bystander, behoof. take all the blame in the world & thrust it upon a humble man until the weight of grief drowns him down to a single knee. to grab another man's mysery & wear it until fingers run black & every pore in the canvas of a body is painted in cold sweat. do we fold our hands in prayer to let our right tell our left there might be some wisdom in regret?

men and deity can't waltz in the dark; as men trip in shadows & deities only sway in the light. martyr & deity cross sights that hide words; martyr says grace; deity says wait (she's so hard to please but she's a forest fire).

belief turns to faith only when your feet run past the cliff's edge. it then whispers: roch, grab your fellow man's pain and make it your own; catapult it to the skies until the beads in your rosary become buboes under your skin. roch awaits a celestial intervention on the misery of humankind & holds dear the flames of disease. preaching hope & aching. miracles à la carte don't exist, roch later realized this when deities handed him his own cure while every standing being surrounding him, crumbled. but u a saint now, roch. u iconic.

- @skinthepoet

I know I used to live without you but that was before I knew the brown speckles of your eyes or the softness of your lips. Before your laughter became my favourite sound and your smile the brightest part of my day. That was before I fell in love with you. Now you’re a part of me like the blood in my veins or the air in my lungs and I need you just as bad. I can’t imagine a day without you and I hope I’ll never have to again.

(via ifthenightcouldtalk)

I confess I loved you more than I let on but you weren't ready for it.   And I wasn't going to pour myself into hands that couldn't hold me.

Lauren Eden (via: skinthepoet)

but how Great would it feel to be someone’s first choice

I couldn’t quite comprehend what betrayal was, but suddenly with your knife in my back - betrayal has never tasted so bittersweet.

j.b.r - 17.05.16 (via lucid-vissions)

I will write about you until my hand aches and my heart does not.

purpl-reign  (via wnq-writers)

Let me be young & disrespectful. Let me leave my plate an unfinished slaughter. Let me spend & eat until I, & no one else, says I’m done.

— Fatimah Asghar, from “Look, I’m Not Good At Eating Chicken,” published in The Rumpus

thoughts on youth & this dusty skin. fear of years. a mirror maze. how great to drift in a city with no name. alone.