The difference
between being loved and being fucked
is I can’t remember how the first feels.
I come to bed quiet, kiss with my eyes closed,
hate how easily I touch you.
Find me the sweetest boy, with a heart
more hopeful than spun sugar on a hot day,
I will teach him the meaning of meaningless
nights. The whole time, every moment, wishing
he’d crack me open, rib by rib, to see
how I work. How I bleed.
— Clementine von Radics (via lofticriess)
I am alone here in my own mind.
There is no map
and there is no road.
It is one of a kind
just as yours is.
— Anne Sexton (via arpeggia)
