For all the loves I've sqaundered, Of all the loves I've passed, For all the times I've splintered, You make me feel so lost

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memory’s so treacherous. one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights, with poignant childhood aromas, the flashing neon of puberty, all that sentimental candy-floss… the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go. somewhere dark and cold, filled with the damp ambiguous shapes of things you’d hoped were forgotten. memories can be vile, repulsive little brutes. like children i suppose.
the joker | THE KILLING JOKE by alan moore (via jdx)

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