May 24, 2012

What sucks the most about this all this unprecedented sunshine is having no one to spend it with.

Incidentally I went out on a bike ride and the whole left pedal arm fell off.
Twice.
Had to push it home. Spend more time on foot than on the bike this time. Oh well.

I keep coming up with lines/stanzas that I feel I should improve and then write into songs;

“With those songs as stitches to fix up those wounds.”

“She cracked open his chest
And I bet she doesn’t know
That he hated the shade
Of blue which was all he had
left to show.”

A song.

5:47pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxM4BPsw
May 18, 2012

I don’t like going out on nights any more. It reveals loneliness and the spaces between people.

A song.

4:55pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxLjDPYe
May 10, 2012
june and after: How We Talk About The People We Don't Know Anymore

juneandafter:

We talk about them hesitantly, tiptoeing around specifics and avoiding his name as though saying it aloud will resuscitate something better off dead, as though five random letters strung together in the correct order could summon the most lifeless parts of us. We talk about them in whispers, like…

(Source: thoughtcatalog.com)

4:38am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxLDITD9
(Notes: 66)
  
May 3, 2012

I feel as if my life is on this unwavering, deadening track and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Not in a particularly good place right now..

8:13am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxKoCndZ
April 13, 2012

She split open his chest, stepped inside, and never left.

4:35pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxJc4CD0
April 11, 2012

He was a bag of sand.

Every time they spoke, she left a small tear in the fabric and he would passively watch as pieces of him fell and littered the floor.

He could go back to the places where they had spoke and he could tell you just by looking at the spread and the direction in which the sand fell, what they spoke about and how she had made him feel.

He would go home and repair the damage the best he could, but stitching wasn’t his forte.

Every meeting would ultimately leave him being more thread than person.

One day they both spoke with heavy chests for the last time. The final tear she left ripped through him. The loss of sand was too great and too fast for him to withstand. As she turned, he looked up as the remaining pieces of him filled the air.

There was nothing left but the whispering of thread and sand.

3:40pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxJUjYy4
March 25, 2012

I didn’t ask you over only because I thought you needed it.

It’s because I needed it too.

Fuck my inability to withhold investments of copious amounts of thought/emotion into things that never work.

A song.

8:14pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxIZfmfj
February 8, 2012

(Source: voodoo-acid-zombie, via amberalene)

8:09pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxG6lmTz
(Notes: 412)
  
February 3, 2012

04/02/2012 1:29am

I’m writing a song.

It’s not going well.

Feel the rush of
space
in your covers
as you stretch your arms
searching for another body.
Wanting to matter to
those you hold dear,
but you will never be happy
with the love you receive.

Do I burn all the daylight
just to wait to feel?
For it to grip my chest,
hold my throat,
then hurt my eyes
with images of you.
I needed you here with me.

8:16pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxFrUs4T
January 17, 2012

jhnmyr:

Officially back on track as of today. Doc says all clear. Ends an 8-month period of extreme patience and a real head trip… Back to it… See you soon.

4:56pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZxQFCxEx6yE4
(Notes: 3,230)
  
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