(via lifeisabsurd)
I think this is what Xanax is for
I am always a bit too much, I guess. I needed him to sleep at night. I blurt. Too much prose, too many poems, too many favors and falling all over myself and literally into walls sometimes. I think I would do that less if every single time I stopped doing it altogether people did not come running back. There is a power there I don’t want, but can’t seem to escape. What happens to Superman and Spiderman in the end, do they slow down, settle on a simple life at home? Away from kryptonite and tall, tall buildings?
Anyway, the only really plan right now is breathing.
— A phrase that was carved on the walls of a concentration camp cell during WWII by a Jewish prisoner (via beautilation)
(Source: notclarissa, via beautilation)
(via mamamantis)
(via robotgirlomatic)
— Charles Bukowski, from Selected Letters Vol. 4 (via deaths-and-entrances)
(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via smokingweedwithparishilton2)
(Source: pin-eye-woman, via kanyewesticle)
