You're the exact reason why I can't stand anything.
Why nobody can fucking reach me.

When you can't have all of me I'm suddenly nothing.
But that's alright.
Because I'm the best at being nothing.
I'll turn my back forever, slip by you like a phantom, pumped with a nothingness larger than the universe.
It was never hard.


Optical illusions.

By Felice Varini.

Another amazing picture, chalk painting by Edgar Müller.


Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"... and I'll whisper "no."


All the things that used to rip my heart to shreds are now simply laughable.
I just love how honesty will hit you like ten tons of fucking bricks.
Whether you're 10 or 100 when it happens, it will hit you.
All of the images you have buildt up inside of yourself will dissolve.
And there will be noone there to stroke your hair when it happens.
To hear your words, to wipe your tears.
There will only be air. Which will only soothe the ones who let it.
Honesty is the most important thing we have.
I'm so sorry it will kill you when you find it buried within.

Pitchblack water, tweeting birds and fleeting memories stenched with questionable alcohol.
This is what I forgot to remember.

What I remember though; is simple.
A person.
That has walked beside me for a long time,
is now back to where we once were.
It makes me smile, just writing out my words about this feeling.
I can't cope to explain it.

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