im wearing all black and listening to the who, because I’m moth.
walking around Disney for fifteen minutes looking for a recycling bin. it’s not easy being green.
my new glasses
this won’t stay.
I’ll find you in the morning sun,
and when the night is new,
I’ll be looking at the moon,
But I’ll be seeing you.
me and my sister are indie moshing to the violent femmes and joy division.
He loved her so much that he could not feel, for this nightmare, he thought, could not be real; he had not a wound for time to heal, he had not bliss for insight to steal; his loss of feeling was his soul annealing, for when she left his heart had followed; in her hand, the case that she had borrowed, empty of the pills that she had swallowed; pale like the cold porcelain tile, where resonant, raven hair lay for awhile; her lifeless eyes gave her allure, that her life had payed for, because that night when he appeared beneath her bathroom door, he found his paramour, lying dead upon the floor. Time passed, but he was never better, he pretended that he had never left her; he sat at the station, forever in stagnation, pretending he was okay, he listened to the trains whistle away; he stared at the clock and watched the time pass each day; he played with his buttons on his coat, and loosened his tie at his throat;he sat at the station because he didn’t want to be alone,he wasn’t alone but he was still lonely and on his own;he watched the people and pretended to be them;he saw his face in all the men and he saw her face in all the women,but then the inimitable raven tresses came his way;with each step she took, the more his heart would betray.His heart unmended for he knew she she wad dead;his phantom love lingered before him; “i love you,” she said,ruinous words, for this delusion was of his soul not his head;“i love you,” he regretfully replied;the agony in his chest protruded from his tongue in an echo across the walls,as his mind realized the movie he’d been watching was actually his life;the station’s people turned into vultures enticed by his distress calls;the people’s sadistic search for insanity mirrored his masochistic strife,gathering their pointing fingers, creating a spotlight with their glares;the police sundered the undead lovers by hauling him up the stairs.He was thrown into a hospital for the mentally incompetent,confined to a room without grounds, the insane are dead too;he looked out beyond his cell bars like a memorial monument;in the shadow appeared her graceful ghost, possessing him with her eyes;the tears dancing down his cheek reflected his broken heart on to his face;she drew near to his cell and the beat of his heart spiraled in pace,he begged for her to be with him but the bars held her back,she told him that these bars kept out the living and the dead;“i’ll stay with you until the day i can hold you,” he said.In dashed the doctor with fear in his eyes and drugs in his hands;he rushed past the specter and forced through the bars;he unravelled his patient’s bound hands from their wire strands;the doctor held up the remedy for his taboo hallucinations;the patient looked at his love and then to the pills with detestation;he struck the doctor’s hand spilling them across the room for liberation;the doctor rebound his patient at the ankles and at the wrists,grasped his neck and nursed the pills down his throat with his fists;the doctor snipped the ties at his wrists and he slumped out his chair,he looked up to find his love, but she was no longer there.The doctor stormed out forgetting the pills on the befouled floor;he crawled to the corner of his cell in too much agony to abhor,hopeless and in denial that he had lost his paramour;he noticed the pills at his feet and not wanting to live anymore,he placed them to his lips and fell beneath his cell door;there he was found lying dead upon the floor.
-Joey
i wrote a poem.
(Source: imagemdma, via jenenaface)
ouch
(Source: cr4shh, via misstinx)
the sad part about trying so hard to be a good person is that when something goes wrong, you’re the one that gets hurt.