(Source: corporalsteiner, via shelbabies)
almost constantly.
—
I don’t remember how to make friends, if I ever did at all.
(via anaees-deactivated20120422)
Always love this.
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!”
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
again the yellow drawn shades,—
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
(Source: andrewharlow, via iwantmybearsuit)
“I am my own heaven and hell.” — J.C.F. Von Schiller (via thatkief)
(Source: heartmindawakening, via iwantmybearsuit)
There is a blacksmith,
and there is a shepherd,
and there is a butcher-boy,
and there is a barber, who’s cutting
and cutting away at my only joy.
I saw a rabbit,
as slick as a knife,
and as pale as a candlestick,
and I had thought it’d be harder to do,
but I caught her,
held her there,
kicking and mewling,
upended, unspooling, unsung and blue;
told her “wherever you go,
little runaway bunny,
I will find you.”
And then she ran,
as they’re liable to do.
Falling.