“I perfume my wrists with weeds you clipped, Blood drips, the scent of roses swallowed by memory. Tart, bitter, your gentle touch does nothing. In the echo I hear you, fingers reminiscing As you pick at my wounds.”
— poeticallyordinary
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This beauty is looking for her intended being💫 she is available on my blog✨
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Handmade pentagram herb drying rack🌿🕯🔮
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Irrational exuberance under the willows.
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“I didn’t need you to try to fix everything all I wanted was someone to listen.”
— Kristen Costello
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dissociated mid breakdown and came back to this
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“I can’t exactly describe how I feel, but it’s not quite right. And it leaves me cold.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
(via wordsnquotes)
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