You can wipe your feet on me, twist my motives around all you like, you can dump millstones on my head and drown me in the river, but you can’t get me out of the story. I’m the plot, babe, and don’t ever forget it.
Margaret Atwood, from Good Bones
Aggie (Times Square, 1980.)
Everyone she met had already spent their best years with someone else. Somewhere else. Exhausting themselves into the present where they only wished to stay home, curl up, watch television. She was still waiting for someone to spend her best years with. To stay out all night with. To dance, dream and read terrible poetry to over cheap liquor and good olives. Only now she had the unshakeable feeling it would never happen. The feeling, hard and haunting, like some unfortunate deja vu.
- works in progress
(via FFFFOUND! & velvetvvind)
Anonymous asked: what do you look for in a girl?
Black lace stockings of impeccable quality
Best Q&A response ever.
The night you left, I almost went crazy. I almost peeled away every layer of midnight just searching for something to howl at. I am slowly learning that the moon isn’t tattooed to the sky. I am slowly learning that she won’t always be there when I need her the most. Every day, people hand me broken glass, and I kiss it hard and long because it is the only thing that hurts the way loving you did. What I mean is you were a mosaic of everyone you broke, and I didn’t know how to stop touching you even when I cut my fingers on the people you loved before me. I wish I could say I was getting better. But some days I still throw bottles across the room and sleep in the mess for hours. It is the closest I can come to your hands. It is the closest I can come to what it felt like when you held me.
Y.Z, Broken bottles and other messes I can’t clean up
Emika - Wicked Game (Cover)
strange what desire makes foolish people do
- Pablo Neruda
Funeral procession rolls by as I half-nap in a doctor’s office with Tumblr to keep me company. vasta’s feed is a good distraction today. thanks, man.