becoming

jessica, 21, nyc

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

They’ll eat your heart alive Every time.

Jack Kerouac, from Mexico City Blues: 242 Choruses (via violentwavesofemotion)

[paintdeath]

bye

[endless-unfolding]

I was born with a knife in one hand and a wound in the other.

Gregory Orr, from “Like Any Other Man,” in The Caged Owl: New and Selected Poems  (via wearyvoices)

[genevieve-nollinger-deactivated]

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[desertislandcomics]

[moldable]

[mad-hate]

[words-and-coffee]

Earth does such things to itself: furrowing, cracking apart, bursting into flame. It rips openings in itself, which it struggles (or not) to skin over. The moon doesn’t care about its own craters and bruises. Only we can regret the perishing of the burned place. Only we could call it a wound.

Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House: A Fire Place (via words-and-coffee)

[undakover]

[feral-violet]

twigs

[littlebluepotatox]

[jennifersvisualdiary]

[roseydoux]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Visit Original Link

T.S. Eliot reciting a segment from his poem titled “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,”  written c. 1915 (x)

Do I dare disturb the universe?

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[5oil]