Empathy is a curse

🔪 Whose pain is this? 🗡

[sailermoon]

Aeschylus, The Oresteia / Anne Carson, H of H Playbook / Hadestown, Road to Hell (Reprise) / John Darnielle, Wolf in White Van / Richard Siken, The Worm King’s Lullaby

[etteraths]

[paper-wounds]

[virgin-martyr]

She had what's known as inner life and didn't know it. She lived off herself as if eating her own entrails.

Clarice Lispector, excerpt from The Hour of the Star trans. Benjamin Moser

[tillydouspart]

scar & secret life & loneliness

inkskinned / heaven, mieko kawakami / i had a dream about you, richard siken / unknown / heavensghost / when i was done dying, dan deacon / scars, the crane wives

[havingapoemwithyou]

Dust by Dorianne Laux

[deathonthebeach]

An imagined version of yourself living happily in an alternate universe is a kind of dead wife

[canonkiller]

but you can't keep holding on like this.

[loveridden1999]

when james baldwin "you think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read" & "love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up" & "it took many years of vomiting up all the filth i’d been taught about myself, and half-believed, before i was able to walk on the earth as though i had a right to be here" & "you have to go the way your blood beats. if you don't live the only life you have, you won't live some other life, you won't live any life at all" & &

[draculings]

From The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions, Larry Mitchell, 1977. Artwork by Ned Asta.

[peachyyykat]

kaveh akbar, 'calling a wolf a wolf' // doc luben, 'love letters or suicide notes' // @/nutnoce, tumblr // 'my body's made of crushed little stars', mitski // @/ojibwa, tumblr // 'spring', mary oliver

[archbudzar]

little black sheep

[theotherkingdoms]

—Olivia Gatwood, “We All Got Burnt that Summer” from Life of the Party

[sivavakkiyar]

“In winter I think spring will be my salvation, and in summer I think autumn, and in autumn winter, it is always the same, I hope from one season to the next.”

— Thomas Bernhard (via wordswithinyou)

[nixscriptum]

[archbudzar]

it was you.

[heldbynight]

The things I loved are

pressed between my ribs,

like wildflowers in a book,

they are still beautiful,

and they are still dead.