derangedrhythms:

Break your image and wrench it from me. 

Sylvia Plath, The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956 ⁠— Richard Sassoon, 1st March 1956

derangedrhythms:

But she was caught in the nightmare of the body […]

Sylvia Plath, Johnny Panic and The Bible of Dreams; from ‘Tongues of Stone’

derangedrhythms:

Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

James Fenton, Out of Danger; from ‘I’ll Explain’

flowerytale:

Marguerite Duras, from The Lover

derangedrhythms:

ALT

Caitlin Bailey, Solve for Desire; from ‘Somewhere a Key’ (edited excerpt)

geryone:

ALT

Velvet Hounds, Aimee Seu

feral-ballad:

You wanna know what I did with the body? What is a body, anyway? Known only because someone called it so. Without my consent. Awarded me this trophy. Covered in fingerprints, dust & grime. The body should be on trial. Fuck, the body is a trial. My memory, a field of landmines. I blink and everything I have tried to forget blows up in my face. The shrapnel, that is where I exist. In the rations of everything that has happened to me. Not in a body. So, I tried to get rid of it. Use it against itself. If you look hard enough down the throat of a bottle. You’ll find it. Lying, almost lifeless, somewhere between death and freedom.

Roya Marsh, from dayliGht; “in broad dayliGht suicidal black girls look guilty”

rains-of-words:

“I became good at pretending. I became so good that after a while the lines blurred between my truth and fiction. And sometimes, when I did a really good job of pretending, I even fooled myself.”

— Ruta Sepetys, Salt to the Sea (via surqrised)

strykerlancer:

— Hermann Hesse, from “Steppenwolf.”

undinesea:

When I sink deep, now, and I still do from time to time, I try and understand that there is another, bigger and stronger part of me that is not sinking. It stands unwavering.

Matt Haig, Reasons to Stay Alive