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  • Neuro Divergent My Azz
    Lately I've been hearing that term more and more by people excusing themselves from some bullshit they caused...I figured it was some bullshit term for being weirdo spaz. That kid in the corner wearing the Babylon 5 Tshirt, tight peach capris, a rain jacket with a Pride flag, a "I punch Nazis" pin and a golden fanny pack where he keeps his Male Tampons. So I looked it up and yup... It's some...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 759 Visualizações
  • So why the fuck is tge George floyd footage from chavins bodycam just being shown now?! Watch thst shit all you floyd supporting morons.
    So why the fuck is tge George floyd footage from chavins bodycam just being shown now?! Watch thst shit all you floyd supporting morons.
    4 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 257 Visualizações
  • Rotten Laughs
    Goth Vibes
    3
    1 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 252 Visualizações
  • #tattoo
    Best tattoo ever...
    #tattoo Best tattoo ever...
    On Fire
    1
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 360 Visualizações
  • I INDUSTRIAL
    I 🖤 INDUSTRIAL 💀🎧
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 383 Visualizações 40
  • https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CeyODqULYRU
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CeyODqULYRU
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 185 Visualizações
  • DEfinetaly part of the Dead Tree
    DEfinetaly part of the Dead Tree
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 215 Visualizações
  • im gonn get a Belphegor T-Shirt
    im gonn get a Belphegor T-Shirt
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 118 Visualizações
  • BälpHHH!!!!
    🤣 😂 😂 BälpHHH!!!!
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 116 Visualizações
  • The Pulse That Outlives Me

    Since I was small,
    my hands have itched
    for the weight of something new,
    the warm breath of an idea
    still wet from birth.

    While others chased nights
    strung with music and lights,
    I chased the hum beneath my ribs—
    that low, holy vibration
    that says: Make. Make. Make.

    I am not afraid of death—
    only of silence,
    of the stillness that comes
    when the last word dries,
    when the last color fades
    from my palette.

    Some people fear missing the party.
    I fear missing the next
    perfect shiver of creation,
    the one that seizes my spine
    like lightning,
    the one that says:
    Here. This is yours. Make it real
    before it slips away forever.

    Even as a child,
    I knew my bones would be dust one day.
    But a poem—
    a song,
    a shadow on film,
    a brushstroke on canvas—
    that could outlive me.
    That could keep my voice
    whispering in the ears of strangers
    long after my name is forgotten.

    So I make.
    I bleed ink.
    I sweat pigment.
    I dream in shapes and sounds.
    Every piece is a fragment
    of the monument I am building
    to outlast my pulse.

    And when I am gone,
    let them find my works
    scattered like constellations—
    each one a flare I sent into the dark,
    each one still burning,
    still warm,
    still breathing my name.


    https://www.blogger.com/u/7/blog/post/edit/7919007891465025240/49843031849199149
    The Pulse That Outlives Me Since I was small, my hands have itched for the weight of something new, the warm breath of an idea still wet from birth. While others chased nights strung with music and lights, I chased the hum beneath my ribs— that low, holy vibration that says: Make. Make. Make. I am not afraid of death— only of silence, of the stillness that comes when the last word dries, when the last color fades from my palette. Some people fear missing the party. I fear missing the next perfect shiver of creation, the one that seizes my spine like lightning, the one that says: Here. This is yours. Make it real before it slips away forever. Even as a child, I knew my bones would be dust one day. But a poem— a song, a shadow on film, a brushstroke on canvas— that could outlive me. That could keep my voice whispering in the ears of strangers long after my name is forgotten. So I make. I bleed ink. I sweat pigment. I dream in shapes and sounds. Every piece is a fragment of the monument I am building to outlast my pulse. And when I am gone, let them find my works scattered like constellations— each one a flare I sent into the dark, each one still burning, still warm, still breathing my name. https://www.blogger.com/u/7/blog/post/edit/7919007891465025240/49843031849199149
    Blogger
    Weblog publishing tool from Google, for sharing text, photos and video.
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