|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| These days are dead.
No wind, no color, and no awareness of temperature, it gets hard to tell if you're alive.
Dead and angry outside, but everything is perfect in the home.
My hovel is a warm, cozy place.
The front door feels it all.
Hi,
come and find me.
Spitting words. Throwing sentences. I ATE your paragraphs.
| | |
|
So what's the count? The current time. I move out in 2 days.
I've spent 18 and a half years in this house, give or take, and it was so easily boxed up.
Posters and pictures that were on the wall so long they took off the paint. Thrown in boxes and most will never see a wall or light again.
I thought there would be tears or excitement.
I don't feel anything at all.
Another step. Forward? Eh whatever.
I sound bitter. I've never moved before. I don't get what all the hype is.
Although, the man I stalked on the internet is going to be sharing my bed.
My things are now "ours". His things are now "ours".
We bought towels together! Fuck yeah we're committed. I hear wedding bells.
HAHAHA. Sorry. Piss poor sense or humour.
Typing to the beat of the rhythm. Thinking my thoughts to the bass. The drums are mind-numbing. Guitar take me away.
5:03AM and everything is starting to awake.
| | |
| I have this need to to learn more about you.
I like knowing your little secrets, and cradling them in my brain.
I like knowing what you're thinking.
I like knowing that your life is. . . not okay.
I like to know that there is people behind these shells.
I like knowing your screaming behind your eyes.
And that you're lying.
You're beautiful.
Hold my hand, so I can let you dangle.
| | |
|
