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Nightingale Clockwork.


(Source: ultra-violenc3, via melonlady)

(Source: feralfoxbones, via melonlady)

“ Goodness comes from within…Goodness is something chosen. When a man cannot choose he ceases to be a man ”

—    Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange (via bookmania)


St. Mary’s Basilica, Kraków

(via witchinqhour)


This goes to the one whom I once did adore,
Who battered my heart until it went sore,
My beaten corpse lay still at your door,
By the way, your mom’s a whore.

Ana, My Love.

She is the sole purpose of my existence. 
She remains the head of power of my entire being.
Ever so gently, never confronting, always darting in the corner of my eyes she lingers.

"Be pretty or die trying." She coos as she draws all over my body with a sharpie.

She’s helping me.
She’s saving me.

At least that’s what I tell myself, what she tells me.

My mouth is full of ashes and my stomach is full of dread, 
So there’s no time to eat as it is.
I become tired, and I begin to sleep.

She engulfs me in love and comfort,
She’s protecting me.

I walk into a store and stare at everyone.
All I want is someone to notice me.
To compliment me.
To say that one fucking word.

But no.
They avoid me.
It’s because you’re not trying hard enough.
She’s not a bitch, she’s controlling but never a bitch.
She encourages me to be the best I can be.
And I try.
I try so hard to please her, 
Because she’s trying to help me, and I’m failing her.

I’m always failing her.
I’m always falling for her.

She weaves me promises of pure beauty and grand intent.
Yet I always fuck it up.
It’s never enough.

Dark Heart.

Your hard gaze falls upon her soft aura and immediately you find yourself trapped in a whirlwind of desire and insanity.
She gazes upon you and is sucked into it as well.
You two have fallen completely and irrevocably in love.

Yet ,
Why is she the one with blood dripping down her dress?
Why is her heart the one in a briefcase?

When will there be a time when the lustful desires of happiness will not be overthrown by the deep darkness that is fear?

Is fear truly such a powerful element as to make one completely disregard all possibilities of sheer happiness provided solely by your own emotions?

We could be friends.
No, too easy.

How about lovers?
No, much too risky.

Well, enemies?
No, no. Too much passion still.

Soon enough you’re sitting there staring at a blank screen filled with html and names and pictures and many faces attempting to make you believe they are there for you.
That they are beating hearts.