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philosophybits: “What do we long for when we see beauty? To be beautiful. We think much happiness must be connected with it. But that is an error.” — Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human
bitchfinder-general:
Every corner is tripped. I looked everywhere, nothing. Yet, the illusion of better existAnd that what made me fall, everytime
the sorrow of things
bebemoon: “She grew into a forest, she could not be found.” — Cynthia Dewi Oka, from “Siege: In Response to the Man Who Asked Me, “Where Is the Courage in Your Poetry?”,” Salvage (via lifeinpoetry)
finita–la–commedia: – Emil M. Cioran, from “Encounters With Suicide” in “The New Gods” (1969)
gamblingwitch: me, having to pretend in front of other people that I have empathy
art-is-art-is-art: “Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal the way you dream, the things you feel. Deep in your spirit let them rise akin to stars in crystal skies that set before the night is blurred: delight in them and speak no word. How can a heart
finita-la-commedia: – Marina Tsvetaeva (Russian, 1892 - 1941), from “Poem Of The End”
violentwavesofemotion: “Obsessed, exhausted, driven out of my mind / by tenderness and desire.” — Alexander Pushkin, from The Bronze Horseman: Poems; “19th of October,”
crimsonkismet: “I thought I breathed the perfume in your blood.” — Charles Baudelaire, The Balcony
lefleur
I don’t know what to do with all this hurt
I died alone a long long time ago
War Command
Bruder Des Lichts
I can’t believe there will be tomorrow
scribe4haxan: Boy Staring at an Apparition (1824-25) - Francisco Goya
Trying to think how can I hurt myself in the worst ways possible.
I can hardly breathe today. I want to roll under my desk and stay there until the world die
Feel so empty
Obsessed by the lust of Obscurity
no sound
♱
gateways-ov-flesh: Funeral Winds
finita–la–commedia: “My soul simply trembles in my throat” — Fyodor Dostoevsky, from “The Brothers Karamazov”
OI MISTA Where's my 'ormones
violentwavesofemotion: Gabriela Mistral, from The Collected Poems & Prose; “Quietness,” wr. c. 1931
finita–la–commedia: “To last is to lessen: existence is loss of being.” — Emil M. Cioran, from “Encounters With Suicide” in “The New Gods” (1969)
violentwavesofemotion: “I died to live,” — Philip, tr. by Edwin Morgan, from The Greek Anthology; “Epigrams,”
nicoledollanganger:
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musicmakesyousmart: Begravd - Pain / Suffering Uninvited Records 2018
sodisnanee:Nadia Maria
i-need-friends-so-bad:
💀 Pяoтèɢe-мoɪ 🎵
tenaciouschaosturtle-ad805251: TERI VARHOL
lunaeyd: “… we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever.” — 1Q84, Haruki Murakami (via 80sconcept)
anotherukhttt: “I will never be the same again – it was absolutely explosive, vital, soul-shattering.” — Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Philip E. McCurdy written c. April 1954 (via violentwavesofemotion)
finita–la–commedia: “With my burned hand, I write about the nature of fire.” — Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880) in a letter to Louise Colet (6 July, 1852)
MOR·BID
夢想家
romantic bitch
novh: Raf Simons Spring/Summer 1997 - ‘Teenage Summercamp’
expressing wit my full capabilities
Only porn blogs following me Anyways I’m sad
tom-isaacs: I’m Not Your Babe - Franko B
modedamour: The Row Pre Fall ‘14
https://64.media.tumblr.com/9ddbc02ac8b6537f54ae906481863017/tumblr_pkrupqBFVW1ukalfso1_500.jpg
beauaethereal: “My eyes are sore from imagining.” — Fernando Pessoa (1880-1935), from “The Book of Disquiet” (via finita–la–commedia)
3rdgod: i don’t want to exist what the fuck
designerleather: Mariacarla Boscono by Thomas Lohr for 032c Magazine #34 SS 2018
aqua-regia009: Die Gartenlaube (1885)L'enterrement d'Atala / The burial of Atala. By Gustave-Claude-Étienne Courtois
anarchivalimpulse-blog: Bruce Conner - Breakaway - 1966
the44caliber:Bonnie and Clyde after being ambushed and killed on May 23, 1934
terrible grindcore man
scarletrougelipstick: I love solitude and not having to perform
