Hellz.

petejudge:

“girls are a lot like cats

they make no fucking sense”

i just can’t sleep. so much going on right now. gotta go to a funeral in the morning but i just can’t keep still or find peace. so much of life truly sucks. we can only do so much, but ultimately it all ends one day no matter what. it breeds a really helpless feeling. i’m not sure why anyone has kids and brings more people into this world.

hopefully i can find a way to care about someone or something in a healthy manner and for more than a couple hours

Belmont festivities for lunch. LI fest at night. Social butterfly status. Leveling up to a Butterfree.

I may have lost my mind.

bryanmcelwain:

kristinjung:

olimerida:

saying transit is better than man overboard is like saying herpes is better than syphilis

….but transit is better than man overboard

saying transit is better than man overboard is like saying reese’s puffs are better than AIDS.****

It seems every
damn
time
that I start writing something positive
of, about, or for someone
they turn into
(and by turn into
i mean
i finally see them as)
a shithead

and before i know it
it’s time to add

another portrait to
the gallery of extraplatonic footnotes

another carcass to
the den of things i wish i never meant
then

another shitty poem
for another shitty person

and to add injury to insult
on some nights i remember
the steps i could’ve taken
way back when
that would make me less
alone in bed
(and less awful when not so)

“you’re too good for me”
“i’m not who you think i am”
“i’m not who you need”
“that’s a guy i’ll never be”

the truth, and nothing but the
convenient and irrefutable truths
of self-fulfilling prophecies.

and there was a good one
without tendencies toward infidelities
without substance abuse
without malleable morality
without conceit

and thanks to my best efforts
without me

i often wonder how far it would’ve gone
could it really have been different, really?
and i usually try to kill that thought
because it brings to mind a big blooming field
one to roll around in
one to run around

never watching the clock
never watching the door
never watching the phone


and i’ve written this all
to at least have some agency over
the fairly blatant
and soon enough obvious
that i’ve spent so much time
just trying to cover my tracks
of this corner i’ve painted myself into

I can only speculate
on what it is that ate away
at your already thin frame.

The sun hasn’t melted all of the snow, it seems.

I used to say
“I didn’t know what I saw in you”

There’s barely anything left of you to see.