The High Priestess

Plucked from the sky, a dying star

Illuminated in my mind as I travel cosmic tides

I sensed him there, an insipid ghost

Pensive eyes amid the gaggle

Strung out, stretching bonds

My phantom was watching him

Weaving cold intention,

Her hand reached out to touch him

And he shuddered with a sensual sigh

Fingers like a wraith clawing at his skin,

Pulling at heart strings

Playing them until they sound my tune

A wounded chest beneath his vest

A bloody display in my eyes

But to him nothing but a mere twinge

Stopping in place a motion of little emotion

Clutched between fingers a bleeding heart

Her lips pressed against his chest licking the wound rare

Sacred heart back to where it starts,

Thumping but its every beat dances only for my breath

anonymous asked:

i doubt haylor would ever be a thing again esp after the 1989 era that shit was sooo strung out no one even cares about it my bet would be kendall bc the kardashians ratings are sinking like the titanic and we all know how deperate kris is and harry too i guess, his ego must be p big since all those blank photos have nearly 1M likes with no real substance

OKAY TRUE like harry and Kendall r meant to be together thy their substance and talent levels are so similar :)

It goes without saying, but please don’t rely solely on Tumblr to get your news. Things are happening at such a rapid pace that by the time a post reaches your dash, some of what was included in the initial post is no longer relevant.

I think one of my biggest flaws has always been that I see beauty in things that I probably shouldn’t. When I was 15 I met this woman at the trap house with about fifteen and a half teeth left and a scar on her chest from almost dying one too many times. I thought she was an angel, because she had these green eyes that were sad, always so sad, but alive, fierce, there was a fire in there still, after all she had lived through. I thought she was beautiful because of her frizzy mess of hair and cracks in the pavement of her eyelids and crows feet that turned up when she smiled. I saw the scars on her lips, her face, from imagined bugs, and I saw this lifetime spread out before me, a map on her skin. She was beautiful because she told me why when he put a gun to my head I better positioned it to kill me and dared, ‘do it.’ She was beautiful because she helped me grasp that sometimes a lifetime with an end goal of self-destruction doesn’t have to end in burning out and collapsing, we were never as bright as stars, we don’t have to number our days ourselves, our time is up when it’s up, and it’s okay to stick around and see how it ends. I remember her telling me why it was thrilling to put needles in my skin, even though sometimes it took an hour of bleeding to find a vein. She told me why, when I was beaten within an inch of my life, I told him 'hit me again, please.’ Why, despite my unending vanity, I still would put slits in my skin with the razor that, once upon a time, I was using to cut lines of coke with, and fly. I’ve always found devastation beautiful. Empty buildings, broken windows, red eyes and bleeding gums. She asked me, 'Honey, do you think that by destroying yourself, you’ll like yourself as much as you like pretty broken things?’
—  No idea when this is from
Match Book
Strung Out
Match Book

Strung Out: Match Book

I don’t know if there is a better punk song that finishes off an album than “Match Book” does for Twisted By Design. Strung Out start off with “Too Close To See” which seems to set the tempo for what to expect from the rest of the album. I absolutely love the line, “Don’t look back in anger/It’s just a memory.” The final line of the song does a good job of finishing everything off, “I know that I’ll be alright, that I’ll be alright.” I still get tingly when I listen to this song.


Jherek Bischoff And Amanda Palmer – Strung Out In Heaven: A Bowie String Quartet Tribute

8ft. Records, 2016

Special Black Friday RSD version with cover of Prince’s Purple Rain on the B side
Limited edition of 2,500

Portraits of David Bowie and Prince by Sarah Beetson, inside art by Bill Sienkiewicz