This is what I miss… not something that’s gone, but something that will never happen.
Margaret Atwood, Cat’s Eye (via larmoyante)
I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Sylvia Plath, “Elm,” from Ariel: The Restored Edition (via mirroir)
you stumble into your front yard
for the sixth night in a row
with liquor stained lips and blood filled eyes.
your wife drags you to your bed and, with pity flowing from her eyes,
removes your clothes quickly
as if they are drenched in the sorrow
that claims your soul.
she stares at your exposed skin, as the night vanishes, and makes up prayers that she keeps on the tip of her tongue.
every time you moan or say your son’s name in your sleep,
she weeps quietly and whispers
don’t worry love, the ground swallowed his body but we still have his name.
midnight | James Strauss (via jamesthatsall)