"The future is what you make of it! Just know that your supplies are limited."
The danger of freedom is this:
it’s too much,
gnashing our bones
between broken teeth,
and we are trapped
before we even realize
that we have borne
our own destruction.
The beauty of freedom is this:
that paper moment between
life and death,
birth and devastation
when we are capable of anything,
when we can swallow stars,
when we can grow orchards from our veins,
when we can hold the sea in our lungs,
when we can kiss the sun full on the mouth.
Icarus sang “Hallelujah”
as his body burned,
with lips seared and smiling.
I’m trying to prove a point to my parents.
Few prowlers were so much feared as Montparnasse. At eighteen, he had already left several corpses on his track. Frizzled, pomaded, with slender waist, hips like a woman, the bust of a Prussian officer, a buzz of admiration about him from the girls of the boulevard… such was this charmer of the sepulcher.
Am I the only person who shouts “Swiggity Swag!” every time the raven stag shows up on Hannibal? Yes? Okay.
The most upsetting feeling in the world for me is writer’s block, because it feels like my air supply has been cut off. I actually have to live in my own head for a while with no way to escape. Not that I refuse to deal with reality, but having an escape route blocked off completely is scary.
Yo if your significant other isn’t your best friend then you’re doing it wrong