Sleep. Weep. Repeat.

It’s like a birth but it is in reverse never gets better, always gets worse

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196 Plays
Brand new
You Won't Know (Acoustic Cover)

Hey hey hey! Mr. Hangman,
Go get your rope

Your daughters weren’t careful,
I fear that I am a slippery slope
Now even if I lay my head down at night
After a day I got perfectly right

She won’t know…
She won’t know…
She won’t know…

So pray little Kay, love is just God on a good day.
And you can’t blame your mother,
She’s trying not to see you as her worst mistake
And I wish that I could tell you right now (…I love you)
But it looks like I won’t be around
So you won’t know…

You won’t know…
You won’t know…
You won’t know…

So believe in me, believe them
You think I’ll let you down
Well I won’t
They can fire everything they’ve got
And when you think I’m sunk
I will float on and die
I am fine to put your gun to my life
And know I’m scared it won’t fire right

You won’t know…
You won’t know…
You won’t know…

You’re never going to feel as full as you felt
So let’s go outside and we’ll play William Tell
Take your time drawing a bead
I’ll stand as still as you need
‘Cause you’re so good at talking smack,
You heart attack
But you’re the apple of my eye anyway

My smiling face that’s on my head is on a silver plate.

So they say,
They say in heaven
There’s no husbands and wives
On the day that I show up
They’ll be completely out
Of their forgiveness supplies
And I cant use the telephone
To tell you that I’m dead and gone
So you won’t know

You won’t know…
You won’t know…
Yeah, You won’t know…


Filed under music brand new the devil and god are raging inside me You won't know Acoustic Cover

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Wake up ready to fall asleep again. Get out of bed horny for the moment you get back into bed and the day has gone from this bright new beginning to this calm oblivion of featureless comfort. Masturbate now. You are an art show, there is no emotion to you. There is just a body of work that involves itself personally to the lives of people who look. You are a disaster of work. People have left their fingerprints all over you, confidently stared into you without regard for their expression and you are an atrophy stuck in the same stages of forever.

You hope every star in the sky is dead, you hope God sits miserable and alone in an isolated hell unable to continue looking at what he’s done. You confuse people with God and yourself as the embodiment of forgiveness through destruction. She pulled down her pants and the dried blood sat like a gunshot wound in her panties.

your tongue hit the top of your tooth as your mouth was absent of breath, the sky filled with everything you never said and it bore down on everything in the room. Gravity felt heavier and hell felt lonelier and closer. The distance two people can put between each other when they’re together is always further than they can make when they finally leave.

You always hated your skin, carved blades through it, treasure hunting for bone. Always treated knuckles like pencil erases. The walls were written on too much and talked to to often. Erase them. Constantly wore down the skin and exposed all the blood you’re holding onto. She was always carving up her body, as if she was marble. She always wanted less skin to mean more, to be more defining of herself. She like you, touched and stared at by too many strangers with no idea of themself. You, unlike her. A catastrophe of everything exploding all at once. Her, a delicate and time consuming torture to keep the violence inside.

Now come. Feel warmth and recognize it before it goes lukewarm. Now sleep alone. Make sure you’re by yourself in that detail-less hell of a room. Spread your limbs out, search for what’s not there.

Filed under prose writing pulp poetry exercise explode rant poems poems to fall asleep to

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Just Going To Refer To Sewage As “Stars That Haven’t Became People Yet.”
About me:
A real piece of the shit part of the universe exploded
sent bacteria in every direction
and that shit eventually piled up with more shit
as it always does
and then some poor women
screamed for hours
and now I’m here.

Everyone keeps yelling
as if depression affects hearing
to be strong, I am star guts!
Life is resilient! Life is relentless!

But last time I checked
if the big bang occurred any degree sooner or later
it’d be unstable
and if the Earth was any degree
or further
from the sun
we’d all be dead.

So yeah
what a marvelous reminder
to stay alive
that I am the embodiment of instability

that I can run my fists into bricks
so many times
that they clot red
and bruise purple and black
like nebula’s.

I hold my breath
and pretend
I am the universe
an oxygen-less
full of things failing
and exploding
and doing their best
to try
and try


Filed under just write ideas bullshit poems poetry prose writing

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"Solomon paraphrases Tanners argument that "sentimental people indulge in their feelings instead of doing what should be done." and cites the example of Nazi commander Rudolf Hoess, who wept at an opera staged by concentration camp prisoners. Perhaps this wasn’t simply ironic but actually casual: His sentimental experience was an escape valve releasing pressure that should have been troubling his conscious.

While its moral critics attack sentimentality because it accords an undue agency to emotions-distracting us from conceptually rigorous or logistically tenable ethics-its aesthetic opponents attack sentimentality from another direction, claiming it does our emotions a disservice by flattening them into a hyperbole or simplicity. Wallace Stevens called sentimentality a “failure of feeling,” but his syntax is ambiguous: does he mean that we’ve failed our feelings or that they’ve failed us?

This ambiguity seems to circle back to Solomon’s distinction. Is the idea that feelings are not enough, that they will fail us if we rely on them too exclusively (for ethical decisions) or milk their excessive impact too shamelessly (for aesthetic value?) Or is the idea that our language is often not enough for feelings themselves, that sentimentality forces them into artificial vessels or cheap bulk-good volumes?”

The Empathy Exams: Leslie Jamison.

Filed under Quotes The Empathy Exams Leslie Jamison sentimentality books Smash this thought into your skull

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I haven’t slept in 48 hours
and this manic excited part of me is just brutalizing the living shit out of my depression out of some sadistic kind of fun just because it can. Meanwhile my eyes get darker and tired, if I stare at something long enough it becomes sort of an LSD trip and I just really want to be cute and fucking ridiculous.

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The best poems you’ll ever make are the ones you’ve already memorized before ever writing it down.

44,824 notes

I think one thing you can do to help your friends who are depressed is to reach out to them not in the spirit of helping, but in the spirit of liking them and wanting their company. “I’m here to help if you ever need me” is good to know, but hard to act on, especially when you’re in a dark place. Specific, ongoing, pleasure-based invitations are much easier to absorb. “I’m here. Let’s go to the movies. Or stay in and order takeout and watch some dumb TV.” “I’m having a party, it would be really great if you could come for a little while.” Ask them for help with things you know they are good at and like doing, so there is reciprocity and a way for them to contribute. “Will you come over Sunday and help me clear my closet of unfashionable and unflattering items? I trust your eye.” “Will you read this story I wrote and help me fix the dialogue?” “Want to make dinner together? You chop, I’ll assemble.” “I am going glasses shopping and I need another set of eyes.” Remind yourself why you like this person, and in the process, remind them that they are likable and worth your time and interest.

Talk to the parts of the person that aren’t being eaten by the depression. Make it as easy as possible to make and keep plans, if you have the emotional resources to be the initiator and to meet your friends a little more than halfway. If the person turns down a bunch of invitations in a row because (presumably) they don’t have the energy to be social, respect their autonomy by giving it a month or two and then try again. Keep the invitations simple; “Any chance we could have breakfast Saturday?” > “ARE YOU AVOIDING ME BECAUSE YOU’RE DEPRESSED OR BECAUSE YOU HATE ME I AM ONLY TRYING TO HELP YOU.” “I miss you and I want to see you” > “I’m worried about you.” A depressed person is going to have a shame spiral about how their shame is making them avoid you and how that’s giving them more shame, which is making them avoid you no matter what you do. No need for you to call attention to it. Just keep asking. “I want to see you” “Let’s do this thing.” “If you are feeling low, I understand, and I don’t want to impose on you, but I miss your face. Please come have coffee with me.” “Apology accepted. ApologIES accepted. So. Gelato and Outlander?”

#613: How do I reach out to my friends who have depression? | Captain Awkward

P.S. A lot of people with depression and other mental illnesses have trouble making decisions or choosing from a bunch of different options. “Wanna get dinner at that pizza place on Tuesday night?” is a LOT easier to answer than “So wanna hang out sometime? What do you want to do?”

(via startrekrenegades)

(via ovarydoses)

Filed under This so fucking hard this.

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My favorite part about owning a seven hundred dollar smart phone is carrying it around with me always so no one can talk to me.