Mind blown
Why does one begin to write? Because she feels misunderstood, I guess because it never comes out clearly enough when she tries to speak. Because she wants to rephrase the world. To take it in and give it back again differently so that everything is used, and nothing is lost.
How vain it is to sit down and write when you have not stood up to live?
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When I feel inspired. After chaos. After heartbreak. To feel something
I feel sad mostly for the excitement of our courtship has seemingly passed for you. The excitement of seeing me, talking to me, calling me at 3 am to say I want to come home and mean it. The simply carefree looking at me with joy, happiness. No thought of another. I want it back.…
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Look at me and don’t you lie
I could be your sacrifice But don’t you hold your head up high For bullshit, I do not have time I can be an old tattoo To remind me when I get bad news And I do not exist to die But live to die, while saving you Does it bite your edges? Do you…
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My heart has changed and my soul has changed and my heart, my heart That my life had changed, that this town had changed, and you had not. That the world has changed don’t you find it strange? That you just went ahead and carried on Now my face has changed, and I haven’t drank…
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why the fuck not?
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Hello World!
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leaves
I don’t think leaves die. I think they just fuck off. I don’t think leaves die, they are too preoccupied for all that-too busy hanging on for dear life, too busy giving the wind its noise, and I need them not too. They can crinkle and lose color and get with the seasons. But death…
Got any book recommendations?
Freudian slip 