Indeed, the work of an artist is making the world more beautiful or more understood.
But beyond that:
We paint the quantum of emotion.
We work in subatomic levels and prove theories beyond the corpuscular theory of light; beyond the seen and obvious, energy and sound; wave upon wave, ripping at the tinder the flames, unseen, within;

chemical bonds and fireflies.

Itziar Verría (via itziarverria)

The fight lasted,

Her legs shook along each fear and regret that concerned the beginning
I only heard short snippets of words
That were deep transformations of emotion
His eyes were so concentrated on her mouth

His chest shattered within each thrust and push that laid against his body
I only listened when he cried for mercy
That was a sly coy of sweet salvation
Her eyes did dilate with the moon

I will find love
I will find my destruction
I will kill my loses
& embody my desire

Love is a game played by Gods
That we think we understand.

The Fight Lasted

(via overflowfight)

Possession to my father became cold
For a touch was infinite as well lush
His tender heart dived, while my tears of gold
Lacked a mark to his map, bearing not us.
Becoming captain to abandoned ship
Was the name you bred in me amid birth
Mother, oh subsist strong with love so thick
Whispered to her bossom, as you did perch
Upon her soul I felt her shudder in.
My mother was no keeper to order
Grateful in life was the key firing pin.
We blast, We last, our powerful mortar
This was the distant lull I do so cry
To admit this, my heart dies here a lie.

x Sonnet II.

(via overflowfight)

As distinct from the physical study
in which it is suggested
We saw not a caution
for these symptoms
of raw affection,

Attention to gut reaction
Guided me through trails you forced
just for me
when I desired a leap from mental attraction,

I watch the way
My name is a singe to your tongue
as you regress
the plunder I laid waste to your saccharine garden,
when you strive to walk beyond me
I still feel those bones falter

As if the guardian I swore to bring you
was truly stone with no intent of poise love,
but an erotic grimace
to keep you fastened until your body,
the only home you had
was set on fire.

This is the only tone
Our culture desires
When a young flower
Wilts to a natural disaster.


(via overflowfight)