coffin collection


Nine is back at it again with the spoopy teos. B)
All done! Unsure if she’ll sell the unique of these lines, since she probably wants to keep one for her coffin collection but considering she wants the ooak as payment, she might just make an coffin teo using that.

In the original trailer we got ...

and we collectively lost our minds because BUCKY!!!! Even if was only the slightest hints of him.

So clearly Marvel though it was a good idea to put the nail in our collective coffin in the second trailer by giving us this …

Albeit, at least they didn’t combine those with more of this …

I’m already anticipating Civil War being my most watched movie of 2016 and possibly my life.

@steverogersnotebook @onceuponardj @writersblockstanfever @marvel-at-stucky @lbarrsxs @sebastianstanchrisevansuniverses @f0r-the-l0ve-0f-marvel-men @marvelmistress2015 @stucky-romanova-stark @just-call-me-mrs-captain @captaincorruptor @love-buckybarnes @sosebastian @imsebastianstanobsessed @twhstuckylover @ilovewintersoldiersandsebastians @dwindlingdichotomy @theconstant1944 @stevetopsbuckysbottom @coldfireheart @valerietodad @buckymychild @poebucky @lokilover14 @phdna @wickedchildgonewild @misha-collins-angel-of-thursday @lovesmoakingarrow @bucky-buchananbarnes

Georgia O'Keeffe (1887–1986), 
From the Lake, No. 1, 1924. 
Oil on canvas, 36 x 30 inches. 
Nathan Emory Coffin Collection of the Des Moines Art Center, Iowa. Purchased with funds from the Coffin Fine Arts Trust. 
Photography by Michael Tropea, Chicago. 
© 2009 Georgia O'Keeffe Museum / 
Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

the madness of your poetry

i love your madness poetry
that falls down from the loins of your universe
with thunderous blizzards of incarnadine voices

full of oracular blasphemies
of non-gods; demon-witch
screams of acid

i let your poetry carve itself into
the swamp of my psyche
suffering the torrents
of your madness
day and night

i lie inside
your poems - they are wombs of wounds

i birth through
your stormy

other universe
spinning cribs and coffins
into the collectivity of the sky …

your poems are multiplications
of victimizations urbanized
for the temples of an
untruly heaven
lodged inside
my very
being …

i crave
the wanton intermittent madness
of your writings thrusting me
against the night into
the savage wind

how i love the passion
of your miracles turning
my flesh into a misty soul
dancing in the bright abyss

of your