Nobody loves me, Nobody cares
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“Don’t attempt to grow a garden in me, when you’re not ready to tend to it.” — (via perturbedthoughts)(via buttholepoetry)
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“Go away. I’m alright.” — H. G. Wells’ final words (via vanderbitch)(via buttholepoetry)
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I am not broken
I was never truly whole
So what’s there to break -
-
Wish
But I can only wish butterflies and paper cuts
Would not
Remind
Me
Of you
The wicked wilderness of enchanting nothingness that robbed us of our secret handshake
But all I can do is
Wish
Wish
Wish
Wish with the whole
Hole in of my heart
That this half of me could replace the half that is with you(via buttholepoetry)
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“Suicide is just a moment. This is how she described it to me. For just a moment, it doesn’t matter that you’ve got people who love you and the sun is shining and there’s a movie coming out this weekend that you’ve been dying to see. It hits you all of a sudden that nothing is ever going to be okay, ever, and you kind of dare yourself. You pick up a knife and press it gently to your skin, you look out a nineteenth-story window and you think, I could just do it. I could just do it. And most of the time, you look at the height and you get scared - You think about how sad it would’ve been if you never got to see that movie, and you look at your dog and wonder who would’ve taken care of her if you had gone. And you go back to normal. But you keep it there in your mind. Even if you never take yourself up on it, it gives you a kind of comfort to know that the day is yours to choose. You tuck it away in your brain like sour candy tucked in your cheek, and the puckering memory it leaves behind, the rough pleasure of running your tongue over its strange terrain, is exactly the same. The day was hers to choose, and perhaps in that treetop moment when she looked down and saw the yard, the world, her life, spread out below her, perhaps she chose to plunge toward it headlong. Perhaps she saw before her a lifetime of walking on the ruined earth and chose instead a single moment in the air.” — Carolyn Parkhurst, The Dogs of Babel (via violentwavesofemotion)(via conor-broberst)
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“We didn’t just read poetry. We let it drip from our tongues, like honey.” — Tom Schulman, screenwriter, Dead Poets Society (via freefallenletters)(via poetdreamer)
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Words I never said
Haunt me more than anything
I have ever done -
Even the moon,
who graciously
and endlessly
glows for the night,
has its moment
of complete darkness.(via poetdreamer)
-
you remind me
of something
devestating
yet beautiful
(like a wayward
hurricane)and i know
i should
get out of your
path
but all i want
is to know
the quiet
that comes
in the eye
of the
storm(via buttholepoetry)
