the suicide kid I went to the worst of bars hoping to get killed. but all I could do was to get drunk again. worse, the bar patrons even ended up liking me. there I was trying to get pushed over the dark edge and I ended up with free drinks while somewhere else some… Continue reading Charles Bukowski
Your dream moves summers inside my mind. — Anne Sexton, from “For Johnny Pole On The Forgotten Beach,” The Complete Poems (Houghton Mifflin, 1981)
There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself- Infinite, green, utterly untouchable. Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also. They are my medium. — Sylvia Plath, from “Apprehensions,” The Bell Jar. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics June 11, 2013) Originally published January 14th 1963.
they thought I had guts they were wrong I was only frightened of more important things — Charles Bukowski, from “Wall Clock,” Open All Night: New Poems. (Black Sparrow Press, September 1, 2000)
Better that every fiber crack and fury make head, blood drenching vivid couch, carpet, floor and the snake-figured almanac vouching you are a million green counties from here, than to sit mute, twitching so under prickling stars, with stare, with curse blackening the time goodbyes were said, trains let go, and I, great magnanimous fool,… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
When I am happy it is so rare. I need to dwell on it, to contemplate it. What a hunger, a craving for beautiful things. — Anaïs Nin, Nearer the Moon: The Previously Unpublished Unexpurgated Diary, 1937-1939. (Harcourt; 1st edition, November 1996)
My heart is a cathedral. Widows, ghosts and lovers sit and sing in the dark, arched marrow of me. ― Segovia Amil, Ophelia Wears Black. (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition, December 11, 2015)