meh1993

you're all such fucking amateurs you start the shit, but then get hurt play the game, grow up a little life is hard, you cant be brittle and in the moments, when it gets really hard you'll be able to look down and see your scars all the shit that you've gone through memories that might still hurt you the people who deserted you in times of need, when you were down but that's just life, i've come to know it's easier if you go like the wind blows just know that you have overcome everything until this point you are strong, you are yourself you will win this game

Are we...a knot? The coiled marriage between ends of a single, solitary string? I ask this simply because I often wonder if the tips of my shoelaces think themselves alone. Individuals weathering the whims of some bowlegged giant? And if we are, what kind? A noose? A slipknot, seemingly together and cleverly designed to fall through at realization? Even before we met, were knotted, if you will, Rather like quantum entanglement, Our ends moved, move, in conjunction, Our branches swaying to the same same winds, Our planets sharing the same moon In a cosmic intimacy typically reserved for Gravitational waltzes and subatomic jazz.

Her warm soul, inky with curiosity, peered at me with sentient, breathing eyes. Her soul beckoned to me, seductively, calling out over the black, blood-warm lake of oblivion. She whispered into the fiery chasms of my being, her voice echoing and shaking against the paper-thin walls of my existence like torn sails in a maelstrom. My naked heart shuddered in the silence, the sounds of its wet machinery raggedly laboring against your still-ringing roar clattering the still waters of the deep. I heard the muffled groans of massive, sleeping behemoths, rolling over, roused, long forgotten in the dusty vaults of time. And in that instant Bravery

i have a tendency, it seems to write when inspiration strikes me; in my pocket on a note-card, hidden away from public, peering eyes, safely guarded always close by. if at random happenstance i stumble back upon it's crumpled form reading my crudely scrawled hand; deign to rewrite it fresh, methodically into a place i keep the things i might someday want to find. it is not by any chance and certainly not providence that i have a tendency, to always scrap the old and usher in the new.

it's blood replacing dew on morning blades of grass, and tears replacing the rain outside your window inside your heart, inside your home where it was once safe, but it isn't anymore. it's "goodbye" replacing conversations and text messages replacing true love; it's only buying flowers if someone dies, because doorsteps and romance aren't worth it. it's crappy poetry replacing talent because anyone with a brain abandoned art long ago and are focusing their energy on important things like how to get off this shit-hole excuse for a planet