I know we don’t talk much,
empty is the space where hope was,
vacant is the room. To think,

the sad flowerpot, so well nurtured,
has now been blown over; cracked.
Its soil scattered all over the ground.

(House: noun, used for the soil
we’re lent. Granted a freehold over,
whatever, it’s all the same. See bleak.)

If you ever need me, shout:
and I will jump the terraced fences,
run over these littered streets few

and far between; don’t keep it
in your shoebox, tell me. All I have
is our tattoo of the phoenix.


Our Phoenix Tattoo

By Ryan Havers

(via ryanhavers)

quietdistaste:

me trying to make a successful text post

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Far too many people are looking for the right person, instead of trying to be the right person.
Gloria Steinem (via feellng)

(Source: feellng)

"I don’t like that man. I must get to know him better." - Abraham Lincoln