piss angel

[trainthief]

*becomes everything I dreamed of when I was little and almost doesn’t notice*

[kalikunt]

it’s about to get darker

[kalikunt]

ow

Oof

My heart

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“There is nothing like forgiveness. Real forgivenesss. It makes you want to weep.”

— Jackie Kay, from Wish I Was Here: Stories; “My Daughter, The Fox,”

[kalikunt]

[000110111-deactivated20140718]

[ma11ory]

Jenny Holzer, Living Series

[wishbzne-deactivated20210526]

“I feel a sadness I expected and which comes only from myself. I say I’ve always been sad. That I can see the same sadness in photos of myself when I was small. That today, recognizing it as the sadness I’ve always had, I could almost call it by my own name, it’s so like me.”

— Marguerite Duras, from The Lover

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“A hideous solitude extended before me and I drove my rebellious heart onward.”

— Nikos Kazantzakis, tr. by Richard Howard, from “The Rock Garden,”

[vintagesaltbackup]

Isabelle Adjani in The Tenant (dir. Roman Polanski, 1976)

[imyrdoll]

[heroin-filled-skies]

age 10-11, age 14

[quotemadness]

“I am too young and I’ve loved you too much.”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky

[antigonick]

“Perhaps the shame I feel is a stand-in for the shame I think someone ought to feel.”

— Maggie Nelson, The Red Parts

[lifeinpoetry]

“The men who scare me most come not like wolves but like mice / and gnaw away at the floor beneath my feet.”

— Ruth Awad, from “Men Compliment Me,” published in the Vida Review

[vesselsofmercy]

“I have led a toothless life, he thought. A toothless life. I have never bitten into anything. I was waiting. I was reserving myself for later on—and I have just noticed that my teeth have gone.”

— Jean-Paul Sartre, The Age of Reason (via nauseadaily)

[kafk-a]

Jericho Brown

[weltenwellen]

Margaret Rogerson, Sorcery of Thorns

[xshayarsha]

“And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter – they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”

— Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath; July 1950 - July 1953.