I can’t breathe.

He’s dead

and

I can’t breathe.

Just Stop

If we could just

stop

touching each other

and

pay attention for

five minutes, we’d

realize everything we

were actually missing, and why

things tend to

hurt so much.

Wednesdays

Text message. World ending.

I don’t sleep.  I get coffee and drink.

I walk around the park in the dark.  I talk to Rob on the phone.

I get coffee again.  I sit in the park and the sun rises. I eat part of a croissant, but I start to feel like I’m going to be sick. 

I walk over to Dupree and talk to Max and Jack.  Rob comes home.  Max takes a nap.  Jack leaves. When he comes back, he has cupcakes. I eat one. The sick feeling comes back.

I lost all feeling somewhere in the middle of a Wednesday.  It comes back sometimes.  When it does, I feel alive, because it feels like I’m slowly dying.  I guess I am.  I guess we all are.  I don’t like Wednesdays. 

Can I change this later?

No,

no you cannot. 

Fart In A Mitten: A Word on Taylor Swift

megmcdermott:

Okay just a little disclaimer: Alright, yes, I admit that I could be considered a fan. The girl writes some damn catchy songs.

That being said, I recently came across this post, and it changed EVERYTHING. I’m not going to sit here and shit on Taylor Swift, that’s not what I want to do. I…

This is a thing I wrote.

I guess I’ve come to the conclusion that time is real, and it’s relevant, and so much of it is spent on really, really stupid, mundane things. I’ve discovered my opinion, which is that society uses things that should be either beautiful or irrelevant to invite us to hate each other and ourselves.
I’ve also discovered that I’d rather spend time with myself than with most people, and I’d rather spend time with music than with myself.
Not in a depressed way. It’s different than it used to be.
Just in a tired way, I guess.

I do that, too.

Life is perpetual disappointment. So I laugh, definitely far too often. I laugh because what the fuck else is there to do?  Cry?  I do that, too. No one knows me.  I’m a facial expression that’s a little too predetermined, a t-shirt that’s a little too big, and a laugh that’s a little too loud.  I string words together in a certain order, to distract others and myself from the fact that I have nothing of value to say.  I have no great contribution.  When it’s 4:13 am and I’m being my honest-to-god, truest self, I can fully acknowledge that I have no real substance.  I just have a way with words, an abundance of self-resentment, and a grief whose weight is so heavy on my chest that I often lose the ability to breathe. That’s all I am. So that is when I cry. 

I feel too young for life

because life is just a very prolonged death

and I know I’m too young for death.

I Really Would

I wish I knew the number of breaths I had left

so I could divide them in two

and give half of them to you.

Noël and I

We can leave in the middle of the night,

when it is least expected.

We’ll go to the mountains, and we’ll stay there, and let the world forget about us, so maybe we can forget about it.