❝ September 22. Nothing. ❞

— Franz Kafka, Diaries 1914-1923    (via le-dilemme)

22 September 2014 ♥ 143 notes    Reblog    
reblogged from ondin-a

drunkdilf:

kinda wanna go on a date, kinda wanna get hit by a truck too 

22 September 2014 ♥ 514,323 notes    Reblog    
reblogged from plainjanefaye    source: cyberho
❝ I am starting to hate existing less.
A thought that at one point seemed unfathomable.
“I will always wish for the blood to stop coursing through my veins.”
I remember how that thought sat in my brain; how I let it eat at me.
I screamed, I yelled, I kicked.
“I will always pray to be six feet under the ground.”
I blew out the candles for my eighteenth birthday.
Why does life have to be so long?

I etched lines into my skin.
I carved mountains and rivers and valleys and dunes.
I made art where there was none.
I painted pictures of what I wanted to see, what I thought should be there.
I sculpted a person as hard as rock.
I used tools as sharp as steel.
I only knew how to destroy.
I forgot how to build.
Plastered on smiles,
Words like swords,
I feigned rays of sunshine
Whilst throwing myself in a thousand different directions.
Anything to make you want me.
Anything to make me care.

I am staring to hate existing less.
Today I am an existentialist.
Tomorrow a Buddhist.
I am both sinner and saint.
I do not know how.
Uncertainty is nothing new.
“I am whimsical,” I say to you.
As you try to strip me of my wings.
But I want nothing tying me down.
You don’t know how it is
to live without gravity.
You do not understand.
You could not understand.
Self destruction is
the only way I stay alive.

There are magic stones
that make me not fear.
I am in a prison of my own security.
I am well versed in the act of nonexistence.
This I can do well.
I may not know how to live,
but I know how to die.
I need it, I crave it.
I have the world at my fingertips and I toss it to the ground.
“Not this life,” I say.
As if I can pick and choose when consciousness is worth it.

This skill is not only learned,
It is taught.
I am a byproduct of passive aggressive.
A reminder of your mistakes.
Too much, too much, too much.
“Yes, I accept your pleas,”
I say to the world.
I will make myself small.
I will shrink into nothing.

I wait for the day for the sun to rise.
I long for the day to slay my dragons with a shining blade of steel.
It does not come.
This time I am quiet.
This time I stop asking
and I wait for my soul to speak.
I am not patient,
But I don’t have the will to fight.
Tenacity only got me so far.
And it is in the silence
Where I found the strength to let it in.

As smooth as a wind,
subtle, somber.
I let it come inside of me.
It whispers.
And this time I will allow
it to be true.
It is in the silence
that I find my salvation.
I am starved and bruised and hollow
But I know I am not done.
This whisper is my battle cry.
I will wait for my voice to catch up.
I will sing it from mountain tops.
I will soon say it-
Those magic words:
“I am stating to hate existing less.”
And I will mean it.

A.M. (via adrianaintheraw)

#c  
21 September 2014 ♥ 317 notes    Reblog    
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