This Is How Winter Feels Like To Me.
This is how winter feels like to me.
And Charles Bukowski poems.
Slowdive, cold wind, the day ends too quickly. Usual cigarette tastes different and I can’t comprehend any thought or feelings, it’s just constant void and unknown ache. I really do hate winter, yet I enjoy it’s silence. The numbness.
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More Posts from Kiramarch
19. The year I finally found myself again after searching years and years, and then lost it again too soon like the clam that had been stolen it’s only pearl. ( I had it I swear.)
Vengeance seeking, forever raging, endlessly dreaming about something greater, wistful remembrances, nothing but all numb. Sitting in a darkest void of a room with full of oneself, almost too exhausting, almost exciting. I am soulless.
I swear there are no feelings left for him in me anymore. It’s just that I’m so used to all of my thoughts being filled with him so, completely erasing him feels really empty.
You deceived me, because you knew I was strong.
You injured me, because you knew I would survive.
If I was less strong, tell me, would you’ve been much nicer to me?
- k.m
E. Hughes, from "My Mother at Twenty-One"
Vengeance seeking, forever raging.