I know I’m never on here, but anyone who lives in tucson and follows me on here HAS to come to the show at halfway house tomorrow. No excuses.
Don’t feel unloved please I’ll send you more I love you messages I check it like 10x a day at least
I squeeze pus from my pores,
I spray blood from my veins,
I pour tears from my heart,
I drink from the pain.
I smoke from the cough,
I sleep from the drugs,
I walk in the hope
that I’ll run into love.
Old friends they can die,
fresh wounds they can heal,
but scars are when pain
becomes too numb to feel.
A million and one
is a million too far,
human bones can’t support
more than one heavy heart.
Steel it don’t bend,
and whiskey don’t break,
now’s always too soon,
and tomorrow’s too late.
It’s harder to feel
things your hands still hold,
when what has been lost
is still crushing you,
bitter,
and slow.
-Anonymous
(reformatted because fuck tumblr)
five imaginary internet dollars to the first person to tell me who wrote it or what it’s from
Dreams I had Last Night
1. I had a child, and owned a house.
2. My train left with my dog and gear on it, before I could get on.
3. That I woke up at 5:47am to my dog whining at me, then I took her for a walk so she could poop, then couldn’t get back to sleep because my mind jumped directly into crazy the instant I woke up, so I laid in bed and tried to calm myself, and then wrote a giant run-on sentence in a Tumblr post.
Guess which one wasn’t a dream.
Not that anyone will read it, but
I’m starting a blog. Nobody can see it. Sweet.
Tumblroll Today
Is it weird that my dog sleeps in my bed? Or do people usually do that. I feel like a lot of people have crates or rugs or pillows that their dogs sleep on. But mine sleeps right next to me.
She keeps me warm.
Fuck the internet
It gives me access to things I don’t want to see, gives me the chance to read things that make me miserable, and provides an excellent means to communicate with people that I’d probably be better off leaving alone.
It also makes life infinitely more stressful, because anything that can be done online is expected to take as little time as possible, so telling somebody, “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t online for a few days” is an excuse that leaves people incredulous.
I hate the fuckin internet, and wish I still didn’t have a phone.
Not that I’m going to stop going online, or smash my cell.
I’m hooked.
