March 2012
10 posts
2 tags
Go down to the drug store buy a tall can run into a high school face on the way out laugh because you two never talk have your first hug of the day at 6:16pm Go home and drink alone.
Mar 1st
23 notes
4 tags
She’s never short on cigarettes but she’s always short on men her lungs are going to dry up and black like her heart she’s like a star about to explode in the dead space of her chest she’s beautiful like that.
Mar 1st
34 notes
February 2012
18 posts
The secret to being a super hero is having dead parents.
Feb 29th
6 notes
4 tags
I force goodbye down my throat like medicine my body didn’t heal or get any better when I swallowed those words from you.
Feb 29th
9 notes
3 tags
Hide your ugly and lonely face in a book and try to convince yourself that these used books could smell better than any women you’ve ever met or lost.
Feb 25th
13 notes
2 tags
“It’s like a birth but it is in reverse never gets better, always gets worse I want to feel like I feel when I’m asleep”
Feb 25th
8 notes
What the fuck is a human hand? I keep reaching and reaching and all I get are cigarettes and I smell like shit and my breath taste like ash and this is all I know today smoke ash bad breath malnourishment underloved overfucked fuck fuck.
Feb 22nd
8 notes
I’m depressed I wish I was dead all day I think about hammering nails into my head
Feb 22nd
11 notes
3 tags
I’m going to lick another cigarette to it’s ass and I’m going to push the ash into the air and think of cremation and I’ll have all the dead circling round my head and in my lungs while I practice how to sing hallelujah and you won’t be somewhere going through some city on your way to me and we won’t climb mountains and I won’t cook dinner...
Feb 22nd
8 notes
4 tags
My head is humming your soft breath and my eyes are turning everything upside down and my tongue is making it’s daddy proud with all these knots it can tie. Yea I got a fever inside of me that makes good people drop dead out of the blue and I’m always sick and this scar and this booze and this pen and this smoke and this apathy and this amazing love ain’t a...
Feb 18th
6 notes
4 tags
My pen has a button on top of it and I press it every day and every night and no bombs ever go off nothing in my head explodes nothing on the page becomes anything nothing catches fire nothing ever becomes anything.
Feb 17th
13 notes
4 tags
I don’t need handcuffs and I don’t need to be bound my heavy hands and ten thousand pound spine already weigh enough to make me give up easily No chase only a collapse some nights right before sleep I can feel the shape of nuclear explosions going off over some one hundred sixty thousand people and I get this angst knowing the world isn’t small enough and I am...
Feb 16th
4 notes
4 tags
How I masturbate: I stare at my eyelids and point my feet and remember how good it feels to be alone and I cum.
Feb 16th
24 notes
4 tags
My body is a terrible place to live. It’s always storming inside my head nothing can grow everything always uproots in the flood waters. The things in my lungs always choke and never have words thanks to secondhand smoke and doubt there is always earthquakes there is always an unsteady tremble in my feet in my knees in my fingers and in my voice, always. And I am tearing...
Feb 13th
18 notes
5 tags
Sometimes I get the feeling we’d like to rip out our spines and use them as baseball bats and smash each others outsides in and then maybe dent the ground a little bit or dig a small grave with our bad ideas and make a deeper hole to bury each other in but I swear I’d mark the ground with my spine like a headstone and try to collapse myself close enough to share beds again...
Feb 12th
23 notes
5 tags
Cupid’s arrow is heavy and reused. Pulled from the backs of so many hopefuls and shot back into the ones with dreams still in their young dumb hearts. Cupid’s arrows is reused. Think: Aids immune deficiency heart failure hours at the doctors pills adding up filling the daily casings. Think of being sick in bed like dogs so happy to not be alone with the...
Feb 9th
5 notes
3 tags
Feb 6th
15 notes
4 tags
There is vomit in the garden you’ll have to bury before the dog eats it and your shoe and your sock and your pant leg all have vomit on them this is what your morning looks like this is what tea and hand rolled cigarettes gets you and your head will roll through gutters through mud through porno shops and your garden will bloom behind your back with things too...
Feb 2nd
6 notes