January 2012
31 posts
Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can’t move Awake but cannot open my eyes And the weight is crushing down on my lungs I know I can’t breathe And hope someone will save me this time And your mother’s still callin you insane and high Swearin it’s different this time And you tell her to give in to the demons that possess her That god never blessed her insides Then...
let's just not talk
and pretend it’s not there
“Long after her death I felt her thoughts floating through mine. Long before we...”
– Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov (via lechatbotte)
