“I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”Sylvia Plath (via demonistic)
Long lasted denial had finally found the means of becoming recognized as and of its very nature.
When strength would finally take the opposing form of a rebuking confession.
A confession which would allow admission into my mind’s clutter— a commotion which almost never ceased to distract from my feeble attempts at dwindling on the indisputable.
Understanding of the foreseeable, however, did not coincide with the expectation of the loathing that would soon consume me.
The loathing which has become a shamefully periodic familiar.
The acceptance that I will never be perceived as I ever struggle to be.
The comprehension of the lacerations which have dimmed my tattered being, ripping deeper and deeper with each uninvited reappearance.
The ever present awareness that I’ve long rendered myself burnt out,
and the repeating, haunting feeling of being relentlessly, pitilessly, and unforgivingly used up.
Dried out, depleted, and run down.
Having nothing more to give.
Seen as nothing more than disposable.
IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER
YOU GOTTA GET away from my friends because they’re more attractive looking and cooler than me and you might choose them instead which i completely understand because im ugly
The whole story in three disturbing images
(Source: Flickr / balmung1983)
a railroad bridge, Kamakura