nature which headlong into life doth throw us,
with our feet forward to our grave doth bring us,
what is less ours, than this our borrowed breath,
we stumble into life, we go to death. -thomas bastard
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akissforcatullus
Jul 03, 2021 02:29PM
i hate looking back on my writing. i hate it so much. and this self-hatred, this… revolt towards one’s own work isn’t unique. it’s experienced by so many. who am i to think i’m special? like a perpe...View all Conversations
Story by akissforcatullus
an air of stately melancholy
my desperation and longing is rotting me. i cannot be both patient and happy, nor pleasantly hopeful without...
