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•What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger•

My soul bleeds and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly, swallows me whole. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky maybe cover for killing me softly

hello from the other side

(Open) Jameson knelt on the floor in his room, rocking back and forth and clutching his head. His hands were scraped, and he was humming to himself.

For when you need inspiration to write...

Sleepless night i woke up again without you by my side I closed my eyes and imagine happy things with you I opened my eyes I felt the cold drop of tear shed I was happy for a moment I smiled.

hands / blood / etc / with a Starbucks cup

I lifted their left wrist and caressed the soft humanlike skin, I expected the black paint to come off. Is it a special type of paint? How could it stay on through burns and blood?

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