My endeavor to seek existential fulfillment, lush in splendor.
They’ll all tell you that you can talk to them. What they aren’t aware of is that when you’re practically living in a stalemate with your head, talking can hardly provide alleviation. And it isn’t like you’re going to ever talk to them anyway because you feel as though you’ll be burdening them.
You cannot win.
the sum of broken parts
i am the great apology
selfies
pseudo-vanity
wat am i doing
im srry
I’ve a cut throat from angels
Though when they descend upon me
I meander my way towards them anyway
I’ll always disregard that new hungry blade
i am going to bang my head against this desk because my existence has become so trivial that i want to beat out my consciousness and live as an empty vessel that could perhaps serve as a semi-decent donor of organs or something
i am sad
who do i even talk to anymore
The sign of intelligence is that you are constantly wondering. Idiots are always dead sure about every damn thing they are doing in their life.
I suppose it’s a comfort, perhaps a sense of self-control, doing worse damage to yourself than the world will ever dare inflict.
(Source: leslieseuffert)
I’ll do what I can while I can but death will really be the best thing that ever happens to me.
And I will take all of the pain that I can stand.
Compress me back to my eager beginnings
Take a scalpel to my brains, oh physician
And extract the sadness from my head
Lay the samples onto a petri dish
Lose your lab in the mess
of the growing vines
Revert me back to my gleaming chrysalis
When my emergence still had promise
Hang me from the highest tree
Watch me fall too early
hope for my flight
Oh Comely | Neutral Milk Hotel
I get to see this wonderful band in October.
It’s my incentive to survive for the next 5 months.
(Source: nottinghamlance)
I can’t stand it to think my life is going so fast and I’m not really living it.
(Source: larmoyante)
there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clockpeople so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.people just are not good to each other
(Source: demeraldese)
I am existing quite solitarily, but I feel you exhaling those pretty breaths upon my chest when I close my eyes
If I wrap my legs around one another; if I stretch my arms as far across my back as they will allow, my brain will think that you are here, wrapped around me
If I lick my lips enough they will chap much like they did when we kissed so densely that we’d melded together
I am over six feet of flesh, brutally chastised by its own mind and you could never help that at all
But the warmth of your body against mine can surely make it more bearable
