With Mine Own Tears I Wash Away My Balm, With Mine Own Hands I Give Away My Crown

stop posting abt yearning or tender or watever and post about THIS

Hamlet: Do you have the time?

Horatio: For you, Hamlet? Hamlet, are you joking? Are you joking me? Hamlet. I will always have time for you. My time may be precious but you are more so. Hamlet, you… are a shining pearl in a sea of mediocrity. I would do anything for you.

Hamlet: No, like what time is it?

“I want to speak to a manager,” the middle-aged woman said in her stern I-used-to-be-a-soccer-mom-ten-years-ago voice, looking down at me over the top of her Gucci reading glasses.

A wicked grin split across my face and the gates of Hell opened up behind me, releasing a gust of hot wind that whipped my apron around my body and forced the woman to shield her face. Demons came forth, dancing around in flames with songs of, “She wants to speak to a manager. Did you hear that? She wants to speak to a manager!” before erupting into earsplitting shrieks of laughter, none louder than my own cackling.

I took in the woman’s look of utter horror before my eyes rolled back into my head and I growled,

“I am the manager.”

17 year old: I'm depressed. I'm overwhelmed by choice. I feel like the stakes are so high that if I fail I could ruin everything forever. I feel a sense of obligation to my parents, but I don't think they understand me. Maybe none of this is worth it

Every 12th grade english teacher, without fail: *hands you the tragedy of hamlet prince of denmark* that's rough buddy

my hobbies include making hot tea, going to the library and daydreaming a lot

miscommunication as a plot device makes me angry

if you just talked to each other but no

hi tonight we cry about the fact that the goddess from the Saffron Goddess fresco appears to be wearing necklaces of duckies and dragonflies

FUCK

self-destruction doesn’t always look like taking too many pills or cutting your skin open. sometimes it’s drinking coffee when you know caffeine gives you panic attacks. sometimes it’s crossing the street without looking both ways. sometimes it’s showering with the water a little too hot. sometimes it’s avoiding eye contact with your reflection in the mirror or ridiculing your problems rather than addressing them. sometimes it’s walking out without sunscreen in scorching heat and not wearing enough when it’s freezing out. self destruction isn’t always physical mutilation, mostly it’s masked as little things so never assume what someone may be going through just bc they don’t show you visible signs of suffering.

Here is what they don’t tell you:

Icarus laughed as he fell. Threw his head back and yelled into the winds, arms spread wide, teeth bared to the world.

(There is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring.)

The wax scorched his skin, ran blazing trails down his back, his thighs, his ankles, his feet. Feathers floated like prayers past his fingers, close enough to snatch back. Death breathed burning kisses against his shoulders, where the wings joined the harness. The sun painted everything in shades of gold.

(There is a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the centre of the flames.)