anxiety: everything ur doing is wrong and everyone who sees you instantly dislikes you me, a reasonable human being: thats ridiculous and doesnt make any sense and i know this is my anxiety talking me: and yet

This no doubt seems to you wantonly exaggerated to excuse a fit of temper. But it is not. I see of course that it is morbid, that it is through this even to me inexplicable susceptibility to some impression suddenly that I approach madness…But this is me; and you can’t know me and merely brush …

O love, O rose soaked by mermaids and spume, dancing flame that climbs the invisible stairway, to waken the blood in insomnia’s labyrinth, so that the waves can complete themselves in the sky, the sea forget its cargoes and rages, and the world fall into darkness’s nets. Pablo Neruda  (via lesgardenias)

isadorahaze: Shredded tulle left in lavender lunar dust. Pieces of Sunday’s recital are nestled in craters and those nakedly blushing shoes with their deviant shapes are buried too- never enough silk ribbon to stifle blood loss on stage. Black swan, white swan: it’s all the same to selene.