crowpocrypha

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I can see his eyes again.

I feel almost whole.

Such wonderful gems,

hiding in a mess of obsidian bangs

They stare with such anger that roars so silently.

My love, no whispers,

Just stare into my eyes.

I am bold enough to meet yours again.

They're my favorite color.

They glow like moonlight,

I love the way my eyes cannot stray from them,

just as my eyes cannot stray from a full moon.

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mean as fuck why is he doing that

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something incredibly American about an Allied trooper yelling brand names at Soviets until they recognize him as an ally.

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Ngl, I feel worse being brushed off than being told no I think

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conditional

It chitters, this madness in the back of my skull.

Looming silently like a raven on a bust of pallus.

Anger and isolation made incarnate—

From years of desolation and involuntary solitude.

Silence is no ally, and my lobes are a cruel duet.

For what is inspiration without its fickle nature,

what is creation without isolation?

What do i wait for, if love is only conditional?

Whose hand does a child hold of none is offered—

Save the madness in the back of their mind.

The voice that chitters and caws.

The crows in the gnarled branches just beyond the window,

the crows that perch against the moonlight.

Mornings and moonlight are my favorite things.

When the world slept and was afraid of nothing: I was safest.

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I hope that someday I can feel loved in a way that matters

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What a vicious dilemma this transaction feels. To have friends who want more, and only stay to fill a void: to repeat this action again and again, so that I have only distrust for every fortune of others— "I am not enough", I think. "They only stay for the bird in the cage," I think.

As though every interaction is transactional, my only value is that others love me. I'm afraid, surrounded by praise, and when someone finds their own way — I expect them to abandon me, because I was unwilling to give them what they wanted of me.

To me, I feel it is the only reason people keep me around: to set me high on a shelf to admire me.

Never touch, never know—only listen.

Stop me at the first whispers of a passion—stop me before I take off.

Let me be in that glen again, with the mayflowers beneath an oak— so that I may wait eternally again, for a dream that never comes.

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I guess for those who don't know, I did skip the demo to leftist pipeline and went straight from a conservative fascist to a socialist in like 2 years.

My dad loves to rant about "brainwashed democrats" and he does view me as one of them— but instead of ranting about them at me, he rants about it at people around me. So I hear him call me an idiot sheep often, though he doesn't say it to me. That's honestly more cowardly than saying it to my face.

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My dad loves to rant about "brainwashed democrats" and he does view me as one of them— but instead of ranting about them at me, he rants about it at people around me. So I hear him call me an idiot sheep often, though he doesn't say it to me. That's honestly more cowardly than saying it to my face.

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Its kinda neat that none of my friends follow my Tumblr, its like, a little diary I can just, talk in

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Moonbows

A moonbow, also known as a lunar rainbow or white rainbow, is a rainbow created by moonlight rather than sunlight. It's formed when light from the moon refracts and reflects off water droplets, like those in rain or mist, creating a visible arc of light in the sky. Moonbows are generally fainter and less colorful than regular rainbows, and they are much rarer due to the need for specific conditions like a full or near-full moon, clear skies, and dark skies.

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oops you looked at him a little too long.

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Wheeljack attempts cooking for his human friends. It goes about as well as you might expect.

Half of them don’t even know what banana bread is but they’re always down to roast Wheeljack

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they’re all weird(affectionately<3)