Quotes About Anguish

the psyche has been burned and left us senseless, the world has been darker than lights-out in a closet full of hungry bats, and the whiskey and wine entered our veins when blood was too weak to carry on

I am not like other people. I am burning in hell. the hell of myself.

No wonder Van Gogh blasted his head off. Crows and sunlight. Idle zero. Zero eating your guts like an animal inside, letting you shit and fuck and blink your eyes, but nothing, a nothing.

It wasn't my day. My week. My month. My year. My life. God damn it.

My flesh looked like it wasn't trying. It looked like it hated being part of me.

My body gnaws at me from one side and my spirit gnaws at me from the other.

my hands dead my heart dead silence adagio of rocks the world ablaze that's the best for me.

I went home each night dizzy and sick. He was murdering me with the sound of his voice.

I have lost my rhythm. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I have been robbed of my filth.

It's just that the grape has me down.

and now as we ready to self-destruct there is very little left to kill which makes the tragedy less and more much much more.

I suppose there's always something out there that we want to torture ourselves with.

I didn't know if I was unhappy. I felt too miserable to be unhappy.

You can feel your life being pounded to a pulp by the useless waste of time.

I know it's impossible to explain this to you. I carry this terrible aching hell in my heart.

Something else is hurting you. That's why you need pot or whiskey, or whips or rubber suits, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can't think.

I am not like other people other people are like other people. they are all alike: joining grouping huddling they are both gleeful and content and i am burning in hell. my heart is a thousand years old i am not like other people.

There's something wrong with me besides melancholia.

The good parts of our relationship felt like a rat walking around and gnawing at the inside of my stomach.

people so tired mutilated either by love or no love.

my blood is soiled and a dark angel sits in my brain

agony can kill or agony can sustain life but peace is always horrifying

Most of these men's lives were so tortured that I enjoyed reading about them, thinking, well, I am in hell too and I can't even write music.

The lines on the page were pulled tight, like a man screaming, but not "Joe, where are you?" More like Joe, where is anything?