"Let our friendship be a caprice..."

As I descend inexorably toward the infernal depths of nihilism, I yet endeavor abortively to grasp the hand of one in whom I may find the salvation that exists not in the wretched existence in which we all languish. 

The desperation with which I precipitate that dysfunctional sentimentality of mine into the vacuous space by which I am surrounded subordinates the consideration of others to the consideration of myself. Such a reprehensible propensity contravenes the principles of integrity on which I still attempt to predicate my conduct. 

Perhaps “nihilism” is far too strong of a word, for I yet believe in notions such as “integrity” and “rectitude.” These human beacons are wanting of their youthful brilliance, however; scarcely a few feet beyond their situations can be seen their promises of salvation achieved by unwavering adherence to stringent virtuosity, for the frenetic tempest of my heart imbibes even the brightest of lights. 

I know with irrefutable certainty that all of my thoughts, suppositions, and absurd hypotheses are presumptuous and unfounded; however, when has the irrationality of one’s sentiments ever dissuaded one from painting the world with a selfish hue? 

Truly, I wish I could return to the days of my youth and suppress my tongue and Romantic zeal, so that I may never obtrude my ghastly personage upon your beautiful soul. I wish for nothing less than to afford you the preferability of my absence. 

But alas, that time has gone. Little can I do other than silently take leave, and allow the havoc I have wreaked to be sequestered into the portions of the mind that obstinately refuse ingress to ignorant reminiscence. 

My apologies mean nothing to you, nor do they mean anything to me. In consequence, I find no reason to speak. 

No reason to speak. 

Everyone has a 2am and a 2pm personality. I’m more interested in the monster you become at 2am rather than the human being you pretend to be at 2pm.
(via missinyouiskillingme)

I bathed my wounds in the saltwater ocean, 

And with my hands I grasped the gentle undulations of that 

Serenely sweet sea. 

As my tattered personage waded into the great depths, 

My skin began to simmer and burn and blaze and degrade, 

And my lungs became imbued with water that my touch corrupted with 

Interminable glee. 

I felt my breath silently purloined, and my infernally inflamed 

Heart commenced its rapid pulsations that so indicated the emergence 

Of a throe; presently, however, the conclusion of my anguish was 


The ethereal wisps of my absconding soul 

Drowned in conjunction with that weary corporeal mass. 

The inexorable tide returned the fetid remnants to the shore, 

And that night, a furious tempest disturbed the indignant sea. 

I now understand that your mellifluous smiles were superimposed upon the melancholy flames of your soul.

Am I so difficult to understand and so easy to misunderstand in all my intentions, plans, and friendships? Ah, we lonely ones and free spirits—it is borne home to us that in some way or other we constantly appear different from what we think. Whereas we wish for nothing more than truth and straightforwardness, we are surrounded by a net of misunderstanding, and despite our most ardent wishes we cannot help our actions being smothered in a cloud of false opinion, attempted compromises, semi-concessions, charitable silence, and erroneous interpretations. Such things gather a weight of melancholy on our brow; for we hate more than death the thought that pretence should be necessary, and such incessant chafing against these things makes us volcanic and menacing. From time to time we avenge ourselves for all our enforced concealment and compulsory self-restraint. We emerge from our cells with terrible faces, our words and deeds are then explosions, and it is not beyond the verge of possibility that we perish through ourselves. Thus dangerously do I live! It is precisely we solitary ones that require love and companions in whose presence we may be open and simple, and the eternal struggle of silence and dissimulation can cease.
Friedrich Nietzsche, from Selected Letters (via c-ovet)

Only the most obtuse would contend that her perception of me diverges from that which is ubiquitous. Yet, by virtue of some inexplicable, though hardly lamentable, propensity, she abides me with an almost unprecedented congeniality. 

Her kindness is such that my heart quivers with a childish appreciation each time that it is employed; though her amiability is a transparent affectation, it nevertheless succeeds in thawing the ice in my veins. 

Tears and loss and broken dreams
May find your heart at dusk.
Carl Sandburg, from “Dreams in the Dusk” (via litverve)
Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart
Until, in our own despair, against our will,
Comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.
Aeschylus (via itsquoted)
We’re all of us sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins, for life.
Tennessee Williams (via itsquoted)

I fell in love with the blazing disks of Your summer eyes,
With the speed of a plane soaring Through the tender skies,
And as the world reposed—laid its Heart to rest—
Hither and thither went my love’s Tempest.

With flaming tresses reflective of Aurora’s work—
Within each solar fauna lurked—
You lit the kindling sequestered in my Eyes,
And painted my love with autumnal Dyes.

Maybe it’s a bad thing, but all my life I’ve found it difficult to relate to anyone. I’ve had a couple of good friends, here and there, but none that I’ve just clicked with. I guess it’s because I rather stay at home on Friday nights and drink my evening tea while I write on napkins. I guess it’s because ever since I was little, I was the shy one who stood alone in line, the one who’d have no partner when the teacher said to pair up. I was the one who was weird because I was silent most the time, the one you’d only talk to in class when you needed a pen. I’m the type of person who knew the answer but didn’t raise their hand, the type of person who was talked down to but bit her tongue every time. I was pushed around, walked on like a doormat, and I never said a word. I was no one’s best friend, only when they needed something of course, then I was their favorite person in the world. Yet I don’t regret a single damn thing, because it’s made me who I am today. I’ve learned to have a low tolerance level with people now. I don’t want to surround myself with someone who laughs at poetry, mocks art, or only finds beauty in the things society deems as beautiful. I’m learning to surround myself with people like me, who see the world in a poetic light. The people who would pick a lonely daisy in a rose garden, the girls who wear caution tape as a necklace, the boys who hide under sweaters and smiles. I’ve also learned that the quietest people have the best minds, and when they open up you can read them like your favorite novel. It’s beautiful.“Isolation is not good for you,” they tell me. Yet in isolation I have discovered what I want and what I need, in isolation I realized that no one I was friends with came to pull me out of it. So I pushed them out of my life.
i.c. // “Finding friends was never easy for me.” (via delicatepoetry)



I walk with her, my Queen, across the earth.
The ground trembling in our wake.
My armor is removed and my sword left behind
Only at her request.
Enrobed in simple linens;
Her cream colored shift almost matching.
I want to steal glances as we walk
But I am ever alert, heightened.
She will be safe for she is my Queen,
My Hummingbird,
My Everything.
And one never knows
What dragons walk the earth;
Looking to take my Queen.

I love this.

And So Silence Prevails

There is a barrier between the Experienced and the Unexperienced, and insuperable it is.

Ours was no different from the rest, but guided by a quixotic hope, an inextinguishable passion, I abortively endeavored to surmount that obstacle.

That barrier is a partition of conflagrations, a holocaust of agony and despair unbeknownst to the one standing on the grass. Yet, with the spirit of childish ambition, and with the naivety of the summer clouds, I strode forth, the failure of years trailing in my wake.

But there was a dissonance among the blood in our veins: yours ambitious, mine resigned; Scout cavorted in your soul, whereas Jeremy brooded in mine.

So with the caterwauling of a newborn, my heart merged with air, and the rivers of my consciousness led into an ocean of darkness, leaving behind the decrepit remains of dreams never realized.

And the divergence of our paths stoked the partitioning flames that kept misery away from its company.