Salinyay-blog - Bananafish

But then I hold myself back, because I knew I’ll be burned too, once I start a fire that matches you.

ma.c.a // I almost touch the spark (via vomitingwords)

more sunrises and less screen time.

more loving and less comparing love.

more happiness and less posting “happy” pictures on instagram.

more living in the now and less worrying about what hasn’t happened.

more tumblr and less instagram.

more yoga and less hitting snooze in the morning.

more real conversations and less talking about how drunk we got the night before.

more peace and less judgement.

more simplicity and less impulse buying.

more water and less coffee.

more self-love and less looking for love.

more living with intent and less having the wrong intentions.

more being responsible and less not studying for important things.

more music/books and less television.

more deep breaths and less not being able to control my life.

more forgiveness and less anger.

more self-soul searching and less looking for another soul right now.

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)

Black Lips is all about the boys who will straight up lie to your face; the poem kind of explores the early signs of a devastating explosion.

please could you be tender and I will sit close to you let’s give it a minute before we admit that we’re through

hard feelings/ loveless, lorde

Four out of Five / Arctic Monkeys : Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino

My heart, calling from a phone booth / in the rain.

Sarah Morgan, from “Train,” Animal Ballistics (via tristealven)

the things we learn on our mothers’ laps

see that lady standing there between the window & the fire extinguisher? she’s just lost her father & i think her boyfriend just left her.

why the fuck would you say that?

i’m telling you, i’ve got this superpower. i just know.

how’s that? a superpower?

not a marvel studios superpower, u silly. more like this supreme capacity. i’ve always had it.

when my dad abandoned my mom, she lost herself in the world’s most dangerous drug: poetry.

she used to hold me on her lap while reciting emily brunte & sylvia plath.

i think that’s why i can read into people’s sadness.

when i come across sadness on the street, authentic sadness, the blues crawl out their host & come talk to me. i’m thinking of starting a mémoire or a blog on it. like that humans of new york, u know?

talk about those things we learn on our mothers’ laps…

i reckon everyone who’s lucky enough to have a mum will undoubtedly learn something whilst resting on her lap. my mom used to sit me on her lap while she revised old latin scriptures & tried herself at egyptian hieroglyphics.

that’s why sometimes tombs & churches murmur their secrets to me. they tell me stories about the afterlife & how, if demanded gently, fire can caress the soul the way water strokes the curves of an overflowing vase.

they find it hilarious that we make a big deal out of our own end.

when all there really is, is an everlasting void.

- @skinthepoet

note to self: don’t stop fighting