felipem by todd knopke.

Tierney Gearon

Jes Cervoni

you think helen belonged to aphrodite? or zeus?
you’re wrong; she belonged to me, a child of ecstasy and pure energy
paris? paris was aphrodite’s lovesick puppy running on fumes,
a sheep sleeping with a wolf, with fangs, with fire,
paris was a pawn.

helen was a reciprocal of me, of feeling herself from the inside out and using that force to conquer cities. she could breathe and even olympus would whimper, and that is what she wanted; achilles was not the only child of a god; achilles was not the only one who the muses would sing the wrath of.

but rage? rage is for children. more damage is to be done in admiration, in adoration, in making everyone kiss your ankles and wash your feet.
there is more to be done in turning chaos into ecstasy and using death as perfume, and to stand above like a god and watch men die for you.

helen did not belong to zeus, he could only wish so much.
helen was of chaos, of ecstasy, of madness, of me.
creator of her own personal bacchanalia, creator of her own desire to watch cities burn with her name as the last thing on the lips of the dead, and make men fall like flies.

by enter dionysus {g.s.} (via witchyeclectic)

(Quelle: ghostwarren, via n-osebleed)


Tom Waits by Alastair Thain

Crystal Castles //////////////////// 2004-2014
and don’t forget:
time is meant to be wasted,
love fails
and death is useless.
by Charles Bukowski, What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire. (via theburnthatkeepseverything)

(via nectarblood)