anecdoche
Lorde – Hard Feelings Loveless
Please could you be tender
And I will sit close to you
Let’s give it a minute before we admit that we’re through
And I will sit close to you
Let’s give it a minute before we admit that we’re through
putting david tennant through pain multiple times in a year is elderly abuse.
I spiral back to me, sitting here, swimming, drowning, sick with longing. I have too much conscience injected in me to break customs without disasterous effects; I can only lean enviously against the boundary and hate, hate, hate the boys who can dispel sexual hunger freely, without misgiving, and be whole, while I drag out from date to date in soggy desire, always unfulfilled. The whole thing sickens me.
- The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
- The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
Forwarded from my hair is green.
هی به خودت گفتی اشکالی نداره، اشکالی نداره اگه بلد نیستی جلوی اشکهات رو بگیری، اشکالی نداره اگه بلد نیستی به جای مشت کردن دستهات حرف بزنی، اشکالی نداره اگه بلد نیستی خوب باشی، اشکالی نداره اگه بلد نیستی زندگی کنی. زندگیات همین چیزهای کوچیکه. همین چیزهای کوچیکه که کف دستهای کوچیکت نگه داشتی و نگاهشون میکنی و یادت میافته چرا زندهای. گفتی، ولی یادت رفت نمیتونی همهچیز رو تا همیشه توی دستهات نگه داری. یادت رفت چیزهای کوچیک رو چقدر راحتتر میشه از آدم دزدید. یادت رفت حتی زمین زیر پات مال تو نیست. دستهات رو باز میکردی و شیارهای کف دستت پر از خون بود. پرسیدی چرا؟ و هیچوقت جوابی پیدا نکردی.
32.
— Click-click: tick-tick
Clock snips time in two
Lap of rain
In the drain pipe
Two o'clock
And never you.
Never you, down the evening,
I cannot
Cry, or even smile
Acidly or bitter-sweetly
For never you and incompletely.
Things surround me;
I could touch
Soap or toothbrush
Desk or chair.
Never mind the three dimensions
All is flat, and you not there.
Letters, paper, stamps
And white. And black.
typewritten-you, and there
It is.
The trickle, liquid trickle
Of rain in drain-pipe
Is voice enough
For me tonight.
And the click-click
Hard quick click-click
Of the clock
Is pain enough,
enough heart-beat
For me tonight.
The narrow cot,
The iron bed
Is space enough
And warmth enough...
Enough, enough.
To bed and sleep
And tearless creep
The formless seconds
Minutes hours
And never you
The raindrops weep
And never you
And tick-tick,
tick-tick
pass the hours.
- The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
— Click-click: tick-tick
Clock snips time in two
Lap of rain
In the drain pipe
Two o'clock
And never you.
Never you, down the evening,
I cannot
Cry, or even smile
Acidly or bitter-sweetly
For never you and incompletely.
Things surround me;
I could touch
Soap or toothbrush
Desk or chair.
Never mind the three dimensions
All is flat, and you not there.
Letters, paper, stamps
And white. And black.
typewritten-you, and there
It is.
The trickle, liquid trickle
Of rain in drain-pipe
Is voice enough
For me tonight.
And the click-click
Hard quick click-click
Of the clock
Is pain enough,
enough heart-beat
For me tonight.
The narrow cot,
The iron bed
Is space enough
And warmth enough...
Enough, enough.
To bed and sleep
And tearless creep
The formless seconds
Minutes hours
And never you
The raindrops weep
And never you
And tick-tick,
tick-tick
pass the hours.
- The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath