Dec 16, '23
Dec 16, '23
— wasted wine.



dear one,
my hands are too cold,
and my heart too fragile,
i don't want to grow old,
this world is much so vile.
right ones come at the right time,
little one, do you not know,
they don't owe you a single dime,
you'll be alone in the first snow,
there won't linger a seamless smile.
forge a promise, break a heart,
this december, i wait another start,
hold a hand, forget about mine,
how bittersweet like wasted wine.
i sold my soul,
to a longing long unsatiated,
i can't control,
the lonesome i have created.

— vin.
-
asymmetric-toadwizard reblogged this · 1 year ago
-
devilmayfall reblogged this · 1 year ago
-
ily-beyond-measure-carstairs reblogged this · 1 year ago
-
ily-beyond-measure-carstairs liked this · 1 year ago
-
maritrit liked this · 1 year ago
-
herquietestwords liked this · 1 year ago
-
lostprinc3 reblogged this · 1 year ago
-
lostprinc3 liked this · 1 year ago
-
forkpigeon3146 liked this · 1 year ago
-
ohmkl0220 liked this · 1 year ago
-
mylittleuniversesstuff liked this · 1 year ago
-
joserifi liked this · 1 year ago
-
girlinjasmineandsandalwood reblogged this · 1 year ago
-
girlinjasmineandsandalwood liked this · 1 year ago
-
lemon-tree-lanterns liked this · 1 year ago
-
enterme5 liked this · 1 year ago
-
bayerischephobic liked this · 1 year ago
-
olivevolution liked this · 1 year ago
-
carlosdmourablog liked this · 1 year ago
-
logophile-18 liked this · 1 year ago
-
zanesullivan23 liked this · 1 year ago
-
bugsr-reallycool liked this · 1 year ago
-
raisaisdeaddd liked this · 1 year ago
-
nucleashan liked this · 1 year ago
-
ifuckinhateschool liked this · 1 year ago
-
voidic3ntity liked this · 1 year ago
-
thearcher1003 liked this · 1 year ago
More Posts from Lostprinc3


I am my family. I am my mothers drunken rage. The one she can’t explain. Her voice still ringing in my ears. Loud and clear. I am my fathers disappointment. The one he never wanted and never perceived. And he vanished, just like my shadow does on a cloud filled day. I am my sisters mind. Her childish thoughts and her loud voice, laughing and begging, and screaming and crying. I am my wounds left open to rott and I am my scars, the ones that leave never ending memories. I am my family.




A life without collecting trinkets is no life at all
My life is just so silly.. I am sitting on my bed in the psych ward, trying to figure out which dried flower I should put in my journal, while I am drinking the cheapest earl grey tea I could find in the supermarket… so silly