1. 2 Apr



    Conscience and cowardice are really the same things. Conscience is the trade-name of the firm. That is all. 

     

  2. 1 Apr



    It’s spring: it’s far too late to slowly escape the wintry stupor
    Instead, be flung from it into bright colours and kitsch and too-loud eyes and new-fangled sounds

     

  3. 6 Mar


    jacquesgleizer: “This Drunk” - Charles Bukowski 1972

    jacquesgleizer:

    “This Drunk” - Charles Bukowski 1972

    (Source: yrself)

     

  4. 5 Mar



    Me oh my!: somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your...

    goodbyei:

    somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
    any experience,your eyes have their silence:
    in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
    or which i cannot touch because they are too near

    your slightest look easily will unclose me
    though i have closed myself as fingers,
    you open…

     

  5. 29 Feb



    I WOULD EAT HIS HEART IN THE MARKET PLACE!!!

    mysoul-is-painted-on-your-mom:

    MY FAVOURITE LINE ANISHA LOOK

    (Source: little-niggah-sugar)

     

  6. 29 Feb



    Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
    Men were deceivers ever,
    One foot in sea, and one on shore,
    To one thing constant never.
    Then sigh not so, but let them go,
    And be you blithe and bonny,
    Converting all your sounds of woe
    Into hey nonny, nonny.
    — William Shakespeare
     

  7. 27 Feb


    eveningsprimrose: Homegirl aby in town omg can’t breathe

    eveningsprimrose:

    Homegirl aby in town

    omg can’t breathe

    (Source: wentzlinson)

     

  8. 23 Feb



    You do not do, you do not do
    Any more, black shoe

     

  9. 19 Feb



    ok so yesterday i was forced to go out with these two butterz galz

    i bought shakespeare though

     

  10. 17 Feb



    omg someone just posted this thing on facebook

    if you’re having quidditch problems i feel for you son

    i got 99 problems but a snitch ain’t one

    omg i’m howling

    (inside)

     

  11. 5 Jan


     

  12. 12 Jun


    E.E. Cummings

    E.E. Cummings

     

  13. 29 May



    What a thrill ——
    My thumb instead of an onion.
    The top quite gone
    Except for a sort of hinge

    Of skin,
    A flap like a hat,
    Dead white.
    Then that red plush.

    Little pilgrim,
    The Indian’s axed your scalp.
    Your turkey wattle
    Carpet rolls

    Straight from the heart.
    I step on it,
    Clutching my bottle
    Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
    Out of a gap
    A million soldiers run,
    Redcoats, every one.

    Whose side are they one?
    O my
    Homunculus, I am ill.
    I have taken a pill to kill

    The thin
    Papery feeling.
    Saboteur,
    Kamikaze man ——

    The stain on your
    Gauze Ku Klux Klan
    Babushka
    Darkens and tarnishes and when
    The balled
    Pulp of your heart
    Confronts its small
    Mill of silence

    How you jump ——
    Trepanned veteran,
    Dirty girl,
    Thumb stump.

    — 

    Sylvia Plath

    (this is my favourite poem, which is weird considering I am extremely squeamish)