what keeps you up at night?

and tell me, how do you get back to sleep?

[wnq-writers]

If we could travel at the speed of light we would see our younger selves somewhere in this galaxy breathing, moving, living casually shackled by gravity just like we are right now. What would we say to them?

Lauren M, Lightyears (via wnq-writers)

[antigonick]

never quite knowing what it means            to be alive.

Darshana Suresh, excerpt of [ UNSURE ] (via antigonick)

(taken from Howling at the Moon)

[teal-deer]

Babe did you fall from heaven bc you seem to be a chaotic ever shifting sphere of eyes & wings making a sound not of this earth and I’m kind of hoping God sent you because this is terrifying

[ga-kyi]

[quietvoiced]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

If I’d known – If I’d known. I’ve always known.

Sarah Kane, from Sarah Kane: Complete Plays; “Cleansed” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Felt it. Here. Inside. Here.

Sarah Kane, from Sarah Kane: Complete Plays; “Cleansed” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I’ll be there, next to you, in a moment, in a second that will inaugurate time.

Paul Celan, from a letter to Gisele Celan-Lestrange featured in Paul Celan: Selections (via violentwavesofemotion)

[moonwhispers]

I want to feel the way that the moon feels. God-like, golden, but terrifying as I survive another night in the labyrinth of the mind.

Zoë Lianne, “For Nights When I Feel Too Much” (via eveninglesbian)

[nevver]

[risingphoenixpress-deactivated2]

I burned. I burned through the sheets until I was clean and new and strange, and the fire never followed me again after that.

Caitlyn Siehl, Fire, published in Rising Phoenix Review.  (via risingphoenixpress)

[wordsnquotes]

They say ‘time heals,’ but even now I know that’s a lie. What people really mean is that eventually you’ll get used to the pain. You’ll forget who you were without it; you’ll forget what you looked like without your scars.

Claudia Gray, A Thousand Pieces of You (via noorshirazie)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Glorious morning or mournful evening? Neither the one nor the other, but — inexpressible pain — the vast and desolate field wrapped in fog, of what cannot express itself alone, outside and in time.

Edmond Jabès, from The Writing of Silence; “On Paul Celan” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[risingphoenixpress-deactivated2]

the streets are littered with our inheritance we carry more bullets in our genealogy than names.

Patricia Camille Antony,  A STORY TOLD A MILLION TIMES, published in Rising Phoenix Review  (via risingphoenixpress)

[risingphoenixpress-deactivated2]

a rem(a)inder of light slants across fields a bleached photograph of what was: consider: memory, an alibi for end, nostalgic dusk air aching for yesterday boys’ dancing fingers bleed dust and straw, breathe in hometown

Margaret Schnabel, Recollection, published in Rising Phoenix Review  (via risingphoenixpress)

[risingphoenixpress-deactivated2]

They say each of our bodies is a temple and we must treat it well but there are too many men forcing us to believe in them as gods, telling us how to say our prayers, trying to fill every room within it until there is no more sanctuary left for ourselves.

Roya Backlund, INK, published in Rising Phoenix Review (via risingphoenixpress)

[visual-poetry]

»the end« by jung lee

[via]