allbymyself

www.instagram.com/slania_0995/?hl=en

Do you think that they'll understand That their fate is in their own hands? - Savoir Adore

Grid View
List View
Reposts
  • allbymyself 45w

    Picture credit- Luke Senica

    Read More

    Near the mountaintop, where the cold is biting and the snow not merely a gorgeous figment of our imagination, it is lonely; with the sort of quiet, that makes your heart pine for human speech.
    Near the top, it is lonely, and we must embrace the shadows and seek the light, all the light we cannot see.

    - Avitaj

  • allbymyself 45w

    That is the sound of your
    voice trying to whisper
    into your ears as you try
    to find the song that passed
    you by two decades ago
    at the foothills of the
    vast and withering wilderness.

    That is the sound of your
    skin trying to tear itself
    away from your blood and
    bone as you try to outrun
    a memory that clings to your
    body like shadowy mist
    on a cold December dawn.

    But we came to the gates
    where sin slept and angels lay
    sun beating down upon our fates
    you were calm and I was fey
    how terrible are our minds
    yet so bleak and beautiful too
    but our souls shall always know
    how we learned to walk in
    the rain and dance in the snow.

    - Avitaj

    @dopamine @raika_ @thegreymetaphor

    Picture credit- Aleksey Kuprikov

    Read More

    Where Sin Slept and Angels Lay

    I didn't choose the blood that runs in my veins, any more than you chose your fate. You and I, we've become what we were made to become.

    - Veronica Roth

  • allbymyself 46w

    Mama sits under the sun
    singing to herself, humming
    to the wind, telling me that
    you could make stories out
    of shadows if your mind's
    not too worn out and your
    heart's really in it, and I
    promise myself that someday
    I'll spin tales out of fire
    and magic out of thin air.

    Mama has callused skin as
    she tells me the earth is kind
    to those who are willing to
    get their hands dirty, who
    don't shy away from a spot
    of blood, the ones who put
    in the hard yards come rain
    or shine, and the rain falls
    steady like silver diamonds
    as we sip coffee on wasted days.

    Mama is long gone up there
    somewhere in the skies
    slow dancing with the stars
    until she became one herself
    and I pick up my pen and
    claw at the wind, chasing
    words in a room half lit
    trying to remember that
    anything could be poetry
    if my heart's really in it.

    - Avitaj

    @dopamine @raika_ @thegreymetaphor

    Picture credit- Cameron Venti

    Read More

    Stories Out of Shadows

    Pick up my pen and
    claw at the wind, chasing
    words in a room half lit
    trying to remember that
    anything could be poetry
    if my heart's really in it.

  • allbymyself 47w

    "Go", says the voice
    on the other side
    of the creaking door
    and my heart knows
    only one of us can
    be saved, maybe the
    gods have written it
    such that only one
    of us will be saved
    so I bolt towards the
    blinding light, leaving
    your footsteps to
    fade away in the dark.

    A decade has passed
    and your face is a
    memory seared into
    the outer edges of
    my weary skin, your
    voice a song that
    I forget, yet it floats
    at the tip of my tongue
    your life a pawn I
    traded for a month
    of freedom and a
    lifetime of nightmares.

    - Avitaj

    @dopamine @raika_ @thegreymetaphor

    Picture credit- Frosty Ilze

    Read More

    Pawn

    A decade has passed and your face is a
    memory, your voice a song

  • allbymyself 47w

    Picture credit- Archie Carlson

    Read More

    With which stars do they go on speaking, the rivers that never reach the sea?

    - Pablo Neruda

  • allbymyself 47w

    31st August, 1939
    Dresden, Deutschland

    It is cold outside my window. The August cold. I know it is coming yet every year, it never fails to shake me to the bones.

    There is something else outside the window however. Something I cannot quite name. It's violence that rings through the air. It's a blood that has been needlessly spilled.

    Isabel hasn't written in over a week. I should worry, but I don't. Because I know Isabel and how forgetful she can be. She says she wants to learn the violin.

    I listen to a radio that is on its last legs. They say there is change in the wind. An insurrection that cannot be quelled any further, apparently.

    I wonder when I will get a letter from Isabel again. Or go and see her. I hope it's soon. I pray it's soon. I start to wonder if they are both really the same thing.

    On the radio, they say the sky will be different tomorrow. They say the world will be different.

    - Avitaj

    @dopamine @raika_
    #diaryentry @writersnetwork

    Picture credit- Egor Yakushkin

    Read More

    The Last Day of Freedom

    On the radio, they say the sky will be different tomorrow. They say the world will be different

  • allbymyself 48w

    Here lies the tide
    resting at the depths
    of a restless ocean
    a tide that shall surely
    make its way to the
    shore and sweep away
    the sand, wash away
    the footprints, no
    matter how much
    you will it not too.

    Here lies the storm
    that is waiting at
    the edge of ashen skies
    a storm that shall surely
    wreak havoc of a kind
    quite terrible for a sane
    mind to truly comprehend
    it carries death and misery
    no matter how much
    you will it not to.

    Here lies the butterfly
    that shall alter the
    course of history forever.

    - Avitaj

    @dopamine @raika_

    Picture credit- Jason Hinrichsen

    Read More

    Butterflies

    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow

    - T.S.Elliot

  • allbymyself 48w

    How lovely must it be
    that I have the liberty
    to seek my own way
    and make my own mistakes
    safe in the knowledge
    that you have forgiveness
    seared into every corner
    of your infinitely kind heart.

    How lovely are the words
    that breathe life into
    a sunrise, the words
    which form the flesh
    and bone of a song
    the words which don't
    make it to the page
    yet make you cry.

    How lovely is the pause
    that split second of silence
    the beats of your heart
    that shadow at the door
    before the chaos breaks out
    and screams rent the air
    and you think of a child
    who showed you love
    and taught you to care.

    - Avitaj

    @dopamine @raika_ - Well, I wrote

    Picture credit- Theo Eilertsen

    Read More

    Pauses, Mistakes and Songs

    Writing doesn't confer importance. It reflects it.

    - Little Women

  • allbymyself 48w

    Picture credit- a friend

    Read More

    Your hands are wildfires. Everything you touch turns to ash upon impact, the cold rain falls down upon your colder soul, and your sins make love to your words as they continue to stumble across alleyways at midnight before ending up at cul de sacs.

    - Avitaj

  • allbymyself 49w

    You are good
    at walking away
    your heart unsteady
    like a boat
    tossed into a sea
    during a storm
    wild and vicious
    at first glance
    but merely a mask
    for the chaos
    that lives within.

    You are good
    at surviving sadness
    a will crafted from
    iron, catching what
    the fates throw
    upon your strong
    yet brittle bones
    your voice a drip
    of reason that
    drowns out noise
    you are good
    at outlasting life.

    You are trying
    to grasp a childhood
    that has passed
    you by, the silence
    a memory you are
    trying to forget
    you are learning
    to forgive music
    before you can
    begin to fall
    in love with it
    all over again.

    - Avitaj

    @dopamine @raika_

    Picture credit- Aaron Burden

    Read More

    Things You Are Good At

    Life was beautiful, everyone knew that, but it was also bitter and bleak and unfair as hell and where did that leave a person?

    - Alice Hoffman