(Source: everydayaposter)
Barnard Bulletin, New York, December 20, 1935
Glad to know that the people in 1935 were EXACTLY the same as we are lol
(Source: yesterdaysprint)
i’ll see you later
i say,
as i slither up your spine into the shallows between the hills of your vertebrae, diving deep through layers of hardened skin. my fingers are now the fibers that struggle to hold your head as you walk at 7 am in the wicked cold. i am the clog of blood and tar that has settled on your cheeks, burning them up like bonfire. in here i am not me, not mine or yours, not even my mother’s. i am a flow of matter cycling through an unforgivable route, wearing away the stickiness that keeps me together every time i brush against the pillars of you. and as i graze and grind, and scrape and scruff, i fall back into myself as a senseless consciousness a rough diamond soft to itself a musical note fleeing from the flute and all matter dissolving into itself again, into blood and salt and round stone beaches
what time?
you ask.
(Source: apeninacoquinete)










