When I went out to kill myself, I caught
A pack of hoodlums beating up a man.
Running to spare his suffering, I forgot
My name, my number, how my day began,
How soldiers milled around the garden stone
And sang amusing songs; how all that day
Their javelins measured crowds; how I alone
Bargained the proper coins, and slipped away.
Banished from heaven, I found this victim beaten,
Stripped, kneed, and left to cry. Dropping my rope
Aside, I ran, ignored the uniforms:
Then I remembered bread my flesh had eaten,
The kiss that ate my flesh. Flayed without hope,
I held the man for nothing in my arms.
— “Saint Judas” by James Wright (via shoutucker)
(Source: nachobelgrande, via thewordlover)
"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."
— Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis (via moriarty)
(Source: loitoledo, via spumeux)
"Get scared. It will do you good. Smoke a bit, stare blankly at some ceilings, beat your head against some walls, refuse to see some people, paint and write. Get scared some more. Allow your little mind to do nothing but function. Stay inside, go out - I don’t care what you’ll do; but stay scared as hell. You will never be able to experience everything. So, please, do poetical justice to your soul and simply experience yourself."
— Albert Camus, from Notebooks, 1951-1959 (via perfect)
(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via perfect)