“Please, don’t.”

Please don’t
waste your time
yearning.
Please don’t,
in those quiet moments before sunrise,
with some sad lark singing, miles away,
go back to your dad’s apartment,
when there was tea
and macaroni on the futon,
don’t.
Don’t say that little girl’s name,
no, don’t even think it,
not now as you read this,
or then, when you’re alone,
as you were last week
and will be again.
Don’t return to the oceans
you’d charted
where her eyes used to be,
and don’t hear her beg,
and don’t say “sorry.”
Please, don’t.
I don’t want to be your muse
anymore.

“

I don’t give a shit what the world thinks. I was born a bitch, I was born a painter, I was born fucked. But I was happy in my way. You did not understand what I am. I am love. I am pleasure, I am essence, I am an idiot, I am an alcoholic, I am tenacious. I am; simply I am…You are a shit.

Frida Kahlo, from an unsent letter to Diego Rivera  (via abattoirr)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)

Just wanted to let you know I miss us, and all of our things.

I’ve listened to this song 30 times today.

LOVE SUCKS AND I HATE IT.

“

Tell me losing everything is what saved you.
Tell me you finally tasted freedom. Don’t lie.
I see it in your eyes. Women lie to their mothers.
Women do not know how to use their own voices
and resort to things deeper. Don’t lie to me.
Tell me you loved to destroy.

Tell me you need me. Please. You are the bones
of my spine. You are the ground beneath my feet.
You are made of deeper stuff than the earth
can give. Admit it: you are lost without the waiting.

Can you even imagine yourself in paradise?
Even the daughter of gods must know loneliness,
must sometimes want nothing more than to be
trapped in a hell of forevers. Thank me, you queen.
I’ve given you forever.

Letter from Hades to Persephone, Clementine von Radics  (via abattoirr)

(Source: clementinevonradics)

“

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world.

Mr. Rogers (via sirmitchell)

nevver:

Mikko Kuorinki

“Self-medicate”

As we stumble through lukewarm sunshine
guided by reactionary impulses of habit
feet dragging and tripping by the imploration
of numb minds;

As we self-medicate
tossing coins down a storm drain
in the name of cardboard cups
and disposable fashion;

As we roll joints in the car and
our eyes dart, as we spray our perfumes-
as we shoot to mute the white noise
of our impending consciousness;

As we light our cigarettes
shivering in the cold,
we are only breathing.
We are only breathing.

after smoking cigars with my dad for two and a half hours I have concluded that air is really, really great.