𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐲

can't tell if I'm a garden or a graveyard

talk enough sense and you’ll lose your mind

This Dostoevsky line destroyed me

feeling like a small fish in a small pond

here we fucking go again is my new good morning

that first sip of coffee and a morning sigh

dying between sunsets

the night and the moon have no need for words

pink moon pink moon pink moon pink moon pink moon

woke up on the wrong side of death again

you cannot escape the darkness that follows you. it will always await your demise.

i've had most of my stories end before they could even begin. do you now understand where all this pain comes from?

tell me, father, which to ask forgiveness for: what i am, or what i am not? tell me, mother, which should i regret: what i became, or what i did not?

to be seen and not exist simultaneously

i'm trying to be better than my father, i am, but my mother says she can see his eyes in me.

like any unloved thing， i don't know if i'm real when i'm not being touched.

you are an empty vessel, whetted sharp as your sword, amalgamation of the lamb and the axe and the blood–matted fur made into one boy.

suddenly,   he   felt   that   the   world   had   no   place   for   him,   no matter   how   large   it   was.