I Love The Poetry Of Self-hatred. I Love The Romance Of The Suffering Artist. I Love The Idea Of Giving

i love the poetry of self-hatred. i love the romance of the suffering artist. i love the idea of giving myself to my work so that it may bloom. i want to spend my days writing in cafes and staying up late. i want to be able to justify my unhappiness like it's an artistic choice, that my sadness is simply the muse that propels me. 

i want to feel like every terrible thing that has ever happened to me has added depth to my stories. i want the pain of my memories to be worth the creation of my art. 

actually no i'm not sorry

might fuck around and let nature reclaim me

having friends notably older than you is fantastic actually, cause you can drop in a little mention of how old you would have been at the time of a story they tell and watch the existential crisis set in

my hands would feel great contemplating the weight of a scythe

the sense of knowing that you're in a big transitional stage of your life. such a surreal feeling. exciting and terrifying and grief-filled and joyous all at once.