"I felt very still and very empty,
the way the eye of a tornado must feel,
moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo."
—Sylvia Plath

Are you happy in this modern world?

Or do you need more?

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes, they roar back again.
—Sylvia Plath

Your love it isn't free,it has to be earned

I am always here. Whatever you might feel,whatever pain you are going through I am here to listen . Even when you feel noone understands you or if you feel any weakness in talking about what hurt you,remember the right ear wont make you feel that way. Anytime night or day I will be here to listen. Please feel free to contact me 🖤🖤🖤
@YeabT29

On the train we exchanged seats, you wanted the window and I wanted to look at you.

Thoughts hub

"silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence.
It was my own silence"
—Sylvia Plath

Over the years, I scattered secrets and parts of me like seeds and waited for them to take root. It wasn’t something I did on purpose. It was only when months had passed that I noticed a dozen new flowers fighting their way through the concrete, and I failed to realise they were all mine. I guess that’s what happens when you give a little bit of yourself to everyone you meet. Everyone gets a fragment. A little piece. Someone takes away your laughter on a hazy night out, blurred by vodka and too loud music, bottles it all up and keeps it to themselves. On sad days, they’ll open the bottle, eager to have it all spilling out once more and they’ll revel in the memories, thinking of a night with no rules with a smile on their face. Another one takes your first love, that boy that lived across the road from you, and they’ll see him half a lifetime later and they’ll know it’s him, though you’ve never properly introduced them. She tells him it feels like they’d known each other forever, but they never even think to mention you. A girl you meet at a concert sees the way you sing your heart out to your favourite song, and she takes that one and makes it her own. You give away your favourite food and drinks and movies and books and you change people’s lives with things that seem so small and you will never know because most of the time they are no longer around to tell you. They have already moved on. And I met someone new last month, and he told me I can’t go on living like this. Giving away parts of myself like free gifts. He told me I can’t be a friend to all. He doesn’t get that this isn’t what I want to be. Someone who gives and gives and finds traces of themselves in other people’s faces, in their lives and in the way they talk. I’ve just never known how to be any different.

I am in love with this writer...I don't know how she got to see what i hold in my heart and write it this beautifully.🖤🖤🖤

Well she actually stole it 😬

I’m sorry 😭😭

It's ok I love you and your writings anyway🖤

The beat of the song she felt was her heartbeat
The lyrics she felt was the promises he torn apart
She's always at the sea shore
Feeling the rythmn of the breeze on her skin like how the serpent snaked his hands on her innocent face and skin
Insomnia reminisces all her ill-fate
Solitude is drowning her
She feared height
Her fears are now heightened
She fears if tommorow ever comes she will be a social misfit
To escape reality she jumps from the storey.
There lies her bold-body from the ruins of her first love and her inability to stomach its pain.
-IOS

He made a puppet out of me
Tied to my body and heart were strings of lies
I danced to his tunes of illusion
My heart gloated of his being
But it was all jokes to him
Burnt the love in my heart
The bird of loyalty in my soul flew off
Silence swallowed me each day
Life flogged me with all her might
My bliss was melted into sadness
I now stand at crossroads looking for answers
I hope my ink of life doesn't finish;
For my story is still being inked with the birth and death of each day.
-IOS