peach-thinks

[peach-thinks]

Joy Sullivan, from Instructions for Traveling West: Poems; “These Days People Are Really Selling Me on California”

[peach-thinks]

"My hands slip off the doorknob

Semen soaked sheets

I sink into the floor.

Clamoring with lungs made of milk cartons.

Spewing sputum,

Carpet stained with empty pints

A still-life is sketched on the back

Mirrored reflections

Bracing myself on the bed frame, I tremble to my feet

And stumble into the sunrise"

[peach-thinks]

[peach-thinks]

Emery Allen, "Soft Human"

[peach-thinks]

So I keep it, to myself— and it hurts.

Sylvia Plath

[peach-thinks]

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Margaret Llewyn Davis, featured in The Selected Letters of Virginia Woolf

[peach-thinks]

— Greg Santora (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[peach-thinks]

[peach-thinks]

— Greg Santora (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[peach-thinks]

[peach-thinks]

Pablo Neruda, from “Ode to the Apple” in Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair

[peach-thinks]

to love someone is firstly to confess: i'm prepared to be devastated by you. by A History of My Brief Body by Billy-Ray Belcourt

[peach-thinks]

— Nikita Gill

[peach-thinks]

[peach-thinks]

never forget from day one I talked about getting out but not forgetting about how all our worst fears are letting out he said why put a new address on the same old loneliness when breathing just passes the time until we all just get old and die now talkings just a waste of breath and livings just a waste of death and why put a new address on the same old loneliness and this is you and me and me and you until we’ve got nothing left

[peach-thinks]

Dedicated to everyone who wonders if I am writing about them. I am.

[peach-thinks]

— Tony Kushner, Angels in America