Fieri Aeternum

nineteen. UST sophomore majoring in Speech Pathology. Atenista at heart. photographer for the UST CRS newsletter. guitarist of Summer Jam. partyphile. avid reader. volleyball player. down-to-earth, outgoing, and optimistic. sensitive & sentimental. parawhore. i love bands with meaningful music. catch a glimpse of my life through my posts. get to know me? hit me up. this is my online diary.
I blog to express, not to impress.
instagram: kiiin | bbm: 223CD3C6
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tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #830 by Tyler Knott Gregson
"I can feel the hurt. There’s something good about it. Mostly it makes me stop remembering."
― Albert Borris (via d-epr-e-s-s-e-d)

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"The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence."
Sylvia Plath (via d-epr-e-s-s-e-d)

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warpedbyparamore:

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lovequotesrus:

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only-parawhores:

Photo by Annemarie Wall Photography
"

GOOGLE SEARCH:
Painless ways to kill yourself.

i. There is no painless way to kill yourself, someone, somewhere, will feel the pain.

ii. The internet says, “sleeping pills, you will fall asleep and never wake up! You won’t feel a thing!” When that is a lie, your stomach will turn to fire and your throat will fill with the taste of your own stomach acid. You will drown in your own spit. That isn’t even the worst party, it’s when your mother comes home from work. She will walk through the door, and call out your name. She will call and call and there will be no response, maybe you’re in the shower? Maybe you’re asleep? She will walk up the stairs, knock on your door to receive no answer. When she walks in she will see the lifeless body of her baby girl, lying on the floor. Her heart will stop but she will run to you with shaky knees, touching your face that is now still and cold. Her body will be on fire, and her throat will begin to tighten, the sharp pains in her chest will feel like knives in the heart. That image will kill her more than her own death, it will haunt her living years each night. She will no longer be alive, but just as dead as you are now.

iii. Years ago, your father showed you the gun safe he kept in the house in case of emergencies, you knew the pass code, you knew how to shoot and loud, at least you had an idea. They say a bullet to the brain will do the job.. So one night, when your father is fast asleep, you will be down the hallway staring down the mouth of a gun.
One, two, three..
Your father’s heart will jump and his body will follow, the first thing he thinks of is you. He will scream your name and run down the hallway and bang on your door. It’s locked. His knees begin to feel weak as he bruises his body trying to knock down the door, the first sight he see’s in blood splattered on the wall. At that moment his breath began to stop, and his eyes wandered to yours. Still open, but no more life inside your shell. He will drop to his hands and knees and scream why, why, why. There will never be a day he won’t hate himself, for keeping a gun in the house, for not making you happy, for not knowing. He will live a life without a son, live a life with an empty space. Live a life of hurt, and hatred for himself.

iv. You may think that when you’re dead and gone you will not be hurting anyone. You may think when you slide a blade across your wrist, you’re only hurting yourself. Yet I have learned that is not true, it’s not. The person who will find your body, the one who see’s the cuts, their chest will feel tight and they will feel like it was their fault for letting it get this far. The only mark you will be leaving on them is pain, hurt, and the question why? So please note this, there is pain in every suicide attempt, every death, every cut. You are not only hurting your life, but others too. Because you are cared for.

"
i.c. // “There is always pain in death, maybe not felt by the one dying, but felt by the lovers of the deceased.” (via delicatepoetry)

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"When you read a book, the neurons in your brain fire overtime, deciding what the characters are wearing, how they’re standing, and what it feels like the first time they kiss. No one shows you. The words make suggestions. Your brain paints the pictures."
 Meg Rosoff (via abookblog)

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"

i don’t want to be someone who writes in pencil
and eats too slowly and walks with eyes that
are glued to the sidewalk and tops of strangers’ feet

i’ve been underwater for so long that
i’ve forgotten lungs are meant
to be filled with air; exhaling seems
more like something found
on the second star to the right, rather
than a process that is meant to be
done twenty-three thousand times a day

i feel like an old woman who
looks in the mirror and all she can see
are wrinkles and white hair and tired eyes and
the absence of who she used to be

but i am not someone who turns away
from sunsets and pretends
that darkness is all i’ve ever known;
someone who thinks
the sun will never rise again

because the sun will rise again—
the words hiding inside of me will
find their way out, because
i cannot hold my breath forever

i am not someone who writes in pencil
and erases the bits that are too
honest and too imperfect and too real
to claim as thoughts of my own

i cannot keep my lips pursed and
hands tied behind my back,
i cannot keep pretending i am
a shadow of who i used to be

my tomorrows hold suns much
brighter than ones that have risen
over horizons of my past;
i have not reached the summit yet

there is so much more me
for me to become

each day, i am new.

"
madisen kuhn, i am not a shadow (via praises)

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thelovenotebook:

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