Poets and artists live on frontiers. They have no feedback, only feedforward....– Marshall McLuhan (via reckon)
now, as if I had roses underneath ordinary skin, i have come to blossom into tears and whitewater rapids full . ghostly, the wishes of underlying thoughts, watery films of the way we kiss. cool time and machines to transport the mind to its own excuse. . this is a grave, too this evening light, this slow tempo. this is a remembrance of all the sand that’s ever been...
Your daughter’s face is a small riot, her hands are a civil war, a refugee...– Warsan Shire, from “Ugly” (via the-final-sentence)
She quietly expected great things to happen to her, and no doubt that’s one of...– Zelda Fitzgerald (via sparkledontfade) love zelda.
poet on fire: Lifelines →
writingsforwinter: When the palm reader takes my left hand in her right one, she informs me that I will live longer than my younger brothers, and one of them will die from a cocaine overdose, the other an accidental drowning. When I told my parents this, my father went on a roadtrip to…
Baby, I have no idea how this will end. Maybe the equator will fall like a...– (via ahuntersheart)