Dopamine Vampire

Just a place for me to write some stuff, I hope you like it. If I didn’t reblog it, I wrote it

[idobethinkin]

Lamplight.

A room of darkness and a single amber bulb.

I love that shit.

[philosophybits]

“Nearly all of our faults are more forgivable than the means we use to hide them.”

— François de La Rochefoucauld, Moral Reflections

[idobethinkin]

To write, ink from an open wound, a body coursing with stories.

Not to be seen or understood, not to be praised or validated, with no intention but to bleed.

It is not formed, but freed. Not heard, but felt.

Words flow and spill, tainted, poisoned. My heart aches, and so I bleed.

I am drowning, choking. I swallow in hope of drawing breath, sinking.

The taste is foul, yet familiar.

It reminds me of home.

[jungquote]

"To be in doubt is a more normal condition than certainty. To confess that you doubt, to admit that you never know for certain, is the supremely human condition; for to be able to suffer the doubt, to carry the doubt, means that one is able to carry the other side."

— C.G. Jung

[idobethinkin]

As often as my fight or flight gets triggered, you’d think I’d have wings or something by now.

[girlnephew]

[kotenok-deactivated20240301]

ikitsuke!

[otomokatsuhiro]

HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE • ハウルの動く城 2004 | dir. Hayao Miyazaki

[idobethinkin]

Nothing says self care like a getting stabbed thousands of times with a needle and punching permanent ink into your skin

[metamorphesque]

how do you love?

Richard Siken, Peter Wever, Ilya Kaminsky, Margaret Atwood, Ada Limón, Akseli Gallen-Kallela, Richard Siken, @maieste, Madeline Miller, Holly Warburton, Shauna Barbosa, Benjamin Alire Sáenz

buy me a coffee

[soracities]

Yusef Komunyakaa, from "The Cage Walker", Pleasure Dome: New & Collected Poems [ID in ALT]

[siir-poesia]

[siir-poesia]

[pisces-amor]

[pisces-amor]

[idobethinkin]

Reading her raised skin like braille, my fingers and tongue trace past lines and present passion, her taste, like a quote I can never forget.

[metamorphesque]

— Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra