excdus:

Switzerland
infracolor™
The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it - basically because you feel good, very good, when you are near or with them.

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Monologue

twentyearsandthespringisover:

This is not a poem:

Remember that time,

you know, that time

that you don’t really remember

but it will always be a scar

or maybe even a habit

like going to Church

or looking over your shoulder

when walking down

a quiet street,

well I think I am beyond

your given “time”,

I don’t…

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A Day In The Life

twentyearsandthespringisover:

A metal plate embedded into my chest

rocking, disjointed, chewing away at flesh.

Joints locking, dying into angles of porcelain

with a pair of matching beads

glistening through the bleary-eyed morning, haze

embalming pores and varnishing the forming indications.

The only way I feel…

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This is Just to Say

observando:

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

― William Carlos Williams

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My statistics class taught me this:

The simplest explanation

is the often the most likely.

Maybe it really is that easy.

Maybe you never wanted me, after all.

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Silence is so accurate.

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boyirl:

Monica Cook
If you look at the fact that you have a roof over your head, food to eat, that you are young and beautiful and live in a peaceful land, then no, you have nothing to be sad about. But the fact is, we are not only a physical body, we have souls too, and sometimes our souls get sick. If you break a leg you don’t just say ‘I have no reason to have a broken leg’ and ignore it; you seek help. It’s the same when your soul gets hurt. Don’t apologize for being sad.

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pixhai:

never do really
club-ugly:

you-lost-him-stupid:

These violent delights have violent ends
William Shakespeare

HOLY SHIT I have this tattooed on me! literally no one knows this quote
I am young, I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow. I see how peoples are set against one another, and in silence, unknowingly, foolishly, obediently, innocently slay one another.

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Whereas story is processed in the mind in a straightforward manner, poetry bypasses rational thought and goes straight to the limbic system and lights it up like a brushfire. It’s the crack cocaine of the literary world.

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