…It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn’t in that skin or the thin blue pulse...– The Bell Jar (via 57littledots)
We’re all wounded. We carry our wounds around with us through life and eventually they kill us. Things happen that leave a mark in space, in time. In us.
Everything reminds me of him
I never really had a problem Because of leaving But everything reminds me of him This evening So if I seem a little out of it Sorry Why should I lie? Everything reminds me of him The spin of the earth impaled the silhouette of the sun on the steeple And I’ve gotta hear the same sermon all the time now from you people Why are you staring into outer space Crying Just because you came across it...
I desire the things which will destroy me in the end. — sylvia plath —
Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it...– Sylvia Plath (via diamondsfalling)