We Were Mountains
21, don't know what I want, don't know where I'm going. All I know is that I like coffee, poetry, art, and that's I'm confused, I'm at least positive about that one. Fuck.
"
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?
I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches? -
Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That kill, that kill, that kill.
- Sylvia Plath
(Source: vanished)
