“I find my self never wanting anyone to know how I am feeling, but at the exact same time its all I want them to know. To know I feel like dying half the time or I feel like i’m so hollow inside I could break.”
I wrote a poem about it, and then threw it away, because that’s the last thing I need right now: More words dedicated to people who will never dedicate a single thing to me.
|—||Thought Catalogue (via jinkeu)|
I suppose it’s a comfort, perhaps a sense of self-control, doing worse damage to yourself than the world will ever dare inflict.
|—||Chuck Palahniuk (via bokura)|