marsgalaxias

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alessandro teoldi

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bro. bro you are romantisizing the secret history. bro you are enamored with the greek class just like richard. bro you are ignoring the bad things and creating aesthetics based on a book telling a murder of a young man. brother.

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— Margaret Atwood, Late Night

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— nn. (via eternaldroplets)

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— unknown (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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Simone de Beauvoir, from a diary entry featured in Diary of a Philosophy Student

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it’s never too late to do better

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— Louise Glück, "The Burning Heart"

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Nikita Gill, from Your Heart is the Sea: Poems; "To the Bartender in St. Luis Who Gave me the Best Advice I Never Listened To,"

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Nikita Gill, from Your Heart is the Sea: Poems; "The Difference Between Alone and Lonely,"

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In saying a God whose love might gulp his teeth. In a girl, whose Ganges lies in her working teeth. In death, do I know her? In her Ishq, does she bone? In death denying God to be. In inks, do we know of time? In burning madness do we lure her to be. In the anthem of death, God gulps and I sever death. In the sadness of pain in her eyes, do we love? We love culprits whose day and work is a judge in bar heaven. In night, do we burn like her? In God, do we gasp. In teeth. In nicest inks do we sow sadder loves of God. In my ninth hunch, she sits in a prettily borrowing moon. In her night, that day. I wished better. Me. In day. Can a girl love? Can you selflessly love? In my teeth, do I rokh? In stump and God. In the hunch, do we lie? In teeth, kind arms gasp for a death in man. He calls me pretty over her hue. In ink nails. Do I amount her, surmount her, life her? Lie her. She reads her free time, in clasp of body prostituting a man in her death draw. Laden love and Godman sight. If death asks, you say, her. In teeth, do I die? I think they would love dying you. In greatest vengeance,in my Jasmine, in my lovely hone acts, do we slip across moons to tell, she is war. She is acts of deaths of God's of lies of teeth of death of war Nazareths of her. Sunk in my teeth, is her sugar in my teeth. Is she a better muse, darling of this world, where does this whirl take? Is she a God of corrupt occasion as her teeth kirks and she bestows sin. We are like a moon at a time. In slowing time, in life, do we earn. In teeth, do we time? In light fevers, do we lie? In snippets of moon occuring teeth as she garners her speck. Her writing over me. Her moon over me death. Death paradise. Her gleam is a fever in teeth. I felled love.

Letter Parts

Sunidhi

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— Franz Kafka

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— soulinkpoetry

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Joanna Klink, from “Night Sky”, The Nightfields

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— Pablo Neruda

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Nikita Gill, from Your Heart is the Sea: Poems; "Your Heart is the Sea," originally published in 2018