I don’t exist.
As the clock ticks on we come to realize, have we really lived at all?
So sometimes I contemplate the meaning of having a Tumblr when I don’t use it…
Everyone needs somethin’ good to read, on a Sunday.
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolfs-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.