When you grow up, your heart dies.

[wounden]

“and each night my heart / protested its future”

— Louise Glück, from section 2 of “An Adventure,“ Faithful and Virtuous Night: Poems (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2014)

[watchoutforintellect]

“She used to say that love would haunt me whereas I was all about haunting myself since the very beginning.”

— Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait in Letters

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“It’s like that, sometimes. Suddenly you want to end it all.”

— Magda Szabó, from “The Door,” published c. November 1987

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“A spring was breaking / out in my heart.”

— Antonio Machado, tr. by Robert Bly, “Last Night, As I Was Sleeping,”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Abandon upon abandon, tenderness upon tenderness…

Rainer Maria Rilke, tr. by Clarissa Aykroyd, from “The Roses,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Anne Sexton, from The Complete Poems (1999); “Suicide Note,” ed. by Maxine Kumin (x)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“My heart expands in celestial songs.”

— Julia de Burgos, from Song of the Simple Truth; “Dream Of Words,”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“Passionate. Innocent. She resembled all this fresh summer enchantment.”

— Zinaida Nikolaevna Gippius, from The Selected Works; “The Mountain Cornel,”

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

W.S. Merwin, from “Separation,” The Second Four Books of Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 1993)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Your moon-kissed roses seem better than love or sleep,

Ernest Dowson, from The Poems of Ernest Dowson; “Spleen,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[adrasteiax]

In spring there is autumn in my heart,

Charles Wright, from China Traces in “Scar Tissue: Poems” (via adrasteiax)

[finita-la-commedia]

I am wherever pain is; in every drop of tears flowing

Vladimir Mayakovsky (Russian, 1893-1930) from “A Cloud In Trousers, 1915” (via weltenwellen)

[heteroglossia]

All in this world has broken. All that’s left is silence. (Leave me in this field  weeping.)

Federico García Lorca, “La Soleá,” Lorca: Selected Poems (via kehrouac)

[adrasteiax]

songs at midnight prepare me for morning.

Audre Lorde, from Vigil in “The Collected Poems Of Audre Lorde” (via adrasteiax)

[vesselsofmercy]

All things have disappeared from me, I can only recognize the sky

Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Book of Images; “Storm,” (via honeyfleshed)

[adrasteiax]

it’s the death you carry in you red and captured, that makes the world shine for you as it never did before.

Margaret Atwood, from Quattrocento in “Selected Poems II: 1976-1986″ (via adrasteiax)

[adrasteiax]

cool, cool, all day that Sunday in July when we were young and did not look into the abyss,

Anne Sexton, from The Furies (The Fury Of Sundays) in “The Complete Poems Of Anne Sexton” (via adrasteiax)