My dear,
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all.
Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.
- Charles Bukowski (via all-the-ways-things-are)
for the fifth time this month
you say you’re going to leave him
he calls you a cunt over the phone
then walks the three miles to your house
and kisses your mouth until the word is just
a place on your body.
i don’t know what brings broken people together
maybe damage seeks out damage
the way stains on a mattress halo into one another
the way stains on a mattress bleed into each other.
- Warsan Shire  (via 5000letters)

(Source: 40ozofpiss, via alonesomes)


travelandseetheworld:

Schloss Bürresheim (Buerresheim Castle) - Mayen, GermanyTravel and see the world
You’re in a party, and the music is blasting and you feel like your veins are pumping together along with the beat. In one corner, the guy who was hosting the party was holding a mike and was in charge of the body shots. This is sickly, you think as everybody came here for a purpose, to forget what they needs to be forgotten. The girl who you know has a boyfriend has somebody sucking her neck by the hall. You could smell cocaine in the bathroom. Let the aura of rebellion hit you in the form of bullets and the revolver was her lips. You drink the beer handed to you by your friend and all you want to do is throw it outside with the rose bushes. Is this maturity, you ask? But then you realize everybody in this roof has gotten hurt, and some are clutching their mobile phones like a proud gold medal, smoked and baked, taking in to realisation on how it was easy for them to call their exes. Everybody is missing someone, and each person is drinking to forget about the same person. Is this how the youth handles their problems, you ask? Yes. So if you’re reading this now, tell her you fucking love her. Tell her you love her before you become the definition of disintegration when you see her smiling with another boy. Get out of that jungle of people lying to themselves, and drive to her house. Feel the adrenaline, imagine how beautiful she looks during this hour, with her face bare and oversized shirts to sleep on. Step on the gas. Knock on her door. Kiss her. Make her yours. - a.s., heart cramps  (via mossyribs)

(via poetry-central)