It has rained for days. Are the gods displeased? Oh let this be the reign to purge the diseased. New poem.
Winter’s grey on a winter’s day, I shot a man in a winter’s fray. He’s buried now at my winter stay, Beneath the children in winter’s play. — This is the poem I am most proud of. It came to me suddenly one morning, and I absolutely love it.
One day, I hope to be desirable.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not ugly. I’m a fairly good looking person. But it does get a bit old when people like your personality but drool at the “cuties” and “hunks” that walk by. And I’m left feeling as though I lack some physical quality. Or maybe I just want to be wanted. The question is why don’t they want me. Hm.
A painter should begin every canvas with a wash of black, because all things in...– Leonardo da Vinci (via ruineshumaines)
You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love...– Bob Marley on how to love a woman (via chelseatee)
dictionaryofobscuresorrows: n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.
Women are hay, men are fire. Then the devil comes along and burns them both.– (via strangedoor)
surrealistpilgrims: Loneliness does not come from having no people around you, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to you. —Carl Jung
I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why, some people fill the...– Anaïs Nin (via strangedoor)
dictionaryofobscuresorrows: n. the smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers—a flirtatious glance, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence—moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone. Just had this.