The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt // Illustration By Instachaaz (ig) // Selected Poems By Frank O’hara //

christopher marlowe wrote plays 400 years ago and they went on to give me massive brain rot

IF THE MOON SMILED, SHE WOULD RESEMBLE YOU

Sylvia Plath // X // N. D. Wilson // e.e. cummings // X // Northern Downpour // Odysseus Elytis // X // Sylvia Plath // Nikita Gill // X // Margaret Atwood

gothic poetry recs??

Edgar Allen Poe: all of his poems

Emily Brontë: all of her poems

Alice Notley, Songs and Stories of the Ghouls

Henry Wordsworth Longfellow, “Haunted Houses”: All houses wherein men have lived and died / are haunted houses.

Dana Levin, “styx”: if you // slit your wrist you could make them speak.

William Blake, “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell” “A Divine Image”: Terror the Human Form Divine 

Margaret Atwood, “Mushrooms” “Speeches for Dr. Frankenstein” “Marrying the Hangman”: What was my ravenous motive? / Why did I make you? 

Jorge Luis Borges, “Two English Poems”:  I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the / hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you / with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat

Frank Bidart, “The Ghost”: if I had merely made you / love me you could not have saved me.

María Negroni, “Rosamundi”: they are bearing a / black wooden coffin and within it I, the invisible / bride

Anne Carson, “The Glass Essay”: She lives on a moor in the north. / She lives alone. / Spring opens like a blade there.

Emily Dickinson, “[The Loneliness One Dare not Sound]″: Its caverns and its corridors / Illuminate—or seal—

Jericho Brown, “Dear Dr. Frankenstein”: I, too, know the science of building men / Out of fragments in little light

Sylvia Plath, “Lady Lazarus” “Ariel” “Fever 103°”: I am too pure for you or anyone. / Your body / Hurts me as the world hurts God.

Hughes Mearns, “Antigonish [I met a man who wasn’t there]”: Yesterday, upon the stair, / I met a man who wasn’t there

Robert Lowell, “Florence“: Ah, to have known, to have loved / too many David and Judiths!

Gregory Orr, “Gathering the Bones Together”: I was twelve when I killed him; / I felt my own bones wrench from my body.

Paisley Rekdal, “Bats”: They flutter, shake like mystics. / They materialize.

“My love is honey tongue. Dandelion wine in a pitcher. Thirsty love. My love licks it’s fingers before it has even fed. My love is peach juice dripping down the neck. Too much sugar love. Cavity love. Toothache, tummy ache love. Soft hands holding the jaw open love. Summer love. Sticky sweet, sticky sweat love. My love can’t ride a bike. My love walks everywhere. Wanders through the river. Feeds the fish, skips the stones. Barefoot love. My love stretches itself out on the grass, kisses a nectarine. My love is never waiting. My love is a traveller, a fruit-eater, a holder. My love is alive. Warm. It lives. It breathes.”

— Caitlyn Siehl, Warm after “Love, Gravity, and Other Forces” by Anita Ofokansi (via alonesomes)

interview with the vampire, 1.07 + peter weiss (tr. james rolleston & kai evers) / noor shirazie / richard siken / laura van prooyen

’The Picture of Dorian Gray’ by Oscar Wilde (quoted from ‘Hamlet’)

to the person in the bell jar...

Sylvia Plath, from ‘The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath’ / Vilhelm Hammershøi / Nicole Krauss, from ‘The History of Love’ / Ramon Casas / Joy Harjo, from ‘Speaking Tree’ / D S (saatchiart) / Fyodor Dostoevsky, from ‘The Idiot’ / Aleardo Terzi / Sylvia Plath, from ‘The Bell Jar’

buy me a coffee

James Baldwin, from If Beale Street Could Talk Florence and the Machine, from Various Storms & Saints Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet

Heart imagery by Andrea Zanatelli Eye with Tear (oil paint and resin tear on canvas) by Nancy Fouts Douleur d'amour (detail) by William-Adolphe Bouguereau

— Anna Akhmatova, The Guest

[text ID: "What do you want?" I asked. / "To be with you in hell," he said.]