Like the earth and moon
I am covered
with craters and scars.
That is not something
I need to be saved from. Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)

(via lifeinpoetry)

The slow-rising central horror of Watergate is not that it might grind down to the reluctant impeachment of a vengeful thug of a president whose entire political career has been a monument to the same kind of cheap shots and treachery he finally got nailed for, but that we might somehow fail to learn something from it. Hunter S. Thompson (via wandrlust)

The silence was enchanting. Infinite space seemed to enter it, and my spirit, alone with the stars, seemed capable of any adventure. W. Somerset Maugham, The Summing Up. (via moonissharp)

(Source: litverve, via an-itinerant-poet)

She tastes like nectar and salt. Nectar and salt and apples. Pollen and stars and hinges. She tastes like fairy tales. Swan maiden at midnight. Cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue. She tastes like hope. Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bones  (via weaverofstars)

(Source: lurii-uchiha-potter, via lightmechanism)

meadowbreath:

Sidewalk, sidewalk
but I couldn’t hear them.
I wore a dress
printed with apples when I was baptized.
I wore floral for our first because you liked it
in a skirt. I wore whatever from then on
because he’d come too late; blue jeans
would do. Seconds for the full stomached,
seconds for…

And I am bored to death with it. Bored to death with this place, bored to death with my life, bored to death with myself. Charles Dickens (via metacatarsis)

(Source: sea-beatnik, via lightmechanism)