Lec + tut + lab + proj x sutdy = uniLife > suicide

Ask me anything   23 Uni Std Who can't live w/o Trance Muzixx ~ When evYting made to b broken^ I just wan u to knw who i m
  1. My Pictures

I’m more afraid of skin
than I’m of bones;

The sun was hot enough on skin
to set even dreams on fire;

In the depth of body
songs written through blue veins;

My finger started to wither like
a flower being burnt by the sun;

Skeleton gather ink dust
from every words
the veil that clothes me.

— 2 weeks ago

the morning floods in
and cuts me in half

one half goes in your pocket 
the other into the air

The foliage in my ribcage 

The lamp asks,
is it the shadow writing this,

the pen, or their converging? 
The paper asks nothing.

while clouds sigh in the distance

When I am tired of being human

i am wax paper beneath your breath

In the hallway of life
you were a rose with no stem

and I, the janitor sweeping 
away the fallen petals.

— 3 weeks ago

Life was an endless string of miseries; if one came to an end there was another waiting around the corner, and if that misfortune became easier to bear, the next would strike harder, leaving creases on our faces that made us all look alike. Even if misfortune came suddenly, we knew it had been there all along, lying in wait on the road in front of us, so we were always ready for it; when the new cloud of trouble descended on us we felt alone, hopelessly alone, inescapably alone; but still we dreamed of the happiness we might find if only we could find other people willing to share our misery.

As we grow older and begin to feel like beasts of burden weighed down by a surfeit of memories, which ones do we throw off first: the least felicitous memories, the heaviest, or the ones that fall most easily by the wayside?

Millions of wretches will wander  like sleepwalkers through the city’s filthy streets, its muddy and  eternally disordered squares, wearing their sad stories like halos of  woe.

People came in all shapes and sizes, dropping in at the worst and most inappropriate moments with worthless rumors and disgusting gossip. If they came hoping to do a good deed, they succeeded only in disturbing the peace. Their affections failed to calm; they simply smothered. They spoke only to prove they had thoughts. To convince you they were interesting, they told you stories. To show you that they loved you, they robbed you of your peace of mind. Though most might not see any of this as important, they were devastating for who would have shed blood to become himself, who wanted nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts; after every visit from these bloodless gossips, these foolish, inane superfluities,  he would for a very long time find himself unable to be himself.

I must forget these people buzzing inside my head, I must forget their voistupidityces, their smells, their demands, their love, their hate, and be myself, as I gazed down at the legs resting so happily on the stool, and I told myself again as I looked up to watch the smoke I’d blown up to the ceiling; I must be myself, because if I failed to be myself, I became the person they wanted me to be, and I can’t bear the person they want me to be; if I had to be that insufferable person, I’d rather be nothing at all.

If that’s how it has to die, go ahead and kill it; then kill the false prophets who sold you on the mystery in the first place!

— 3 weeks ago

sudden in a shaft of sunlight

day succumbs to stingy night

between un-being and being

stretching before and after

while the dust moves

trapped myself into the clouds

you give the sky back

the stars from your eyes

— 4 weeks ago

Northern California summer cottage. Richardson Architects.


Northern California summer cottage. Richardson Architects.

(via kvtes)

— 1 month ago with 732 notes