T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
John Keats’ original manuscript pages of Ode to a Nightingale.
later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?
it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.
»missing part« by anatol knotek
[if you are interested in buying this little book, please contact me on tumblr or via email: anatol(at)anatol(dot)cc]
Enemies by Dante Micheaux
— Pablo Neruda
(someone was probably going to do it so it might as well be me)
but the boys who are looking for sad girls always find me. i’m not a girl anymore and i’m not sad anymore. you want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘wow, isn’t he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ you think i’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? i’ll swallow you whole.
