If empires really fall like you say then my walls have been wrecked and there’s nothing left of the jaded pride I forced into existence by the leftover scars of past “love” except the rubble beneath your fingernails
I was never made of stone, I’ve always been easy to burn but I had to paint myself gray
As ashes that once glowed furious orange of “never again”
'Hell hath no fury' but Hell's never met you
I have never needed as much as I need you
#shut up jackie
"I wish I hadn’t shown you the darkest parts of me."
"I don’t write in the hope of any sort of recognition,
I write because there’s a voice inside me
that likes to sing even when no one is listening.
I’m not an artist or a craftsmen,
I’m just one of those infinite monkeys
banging away at a machine I barely understand,
just because I have nothing better to do with my hands.
I write because there is a solace in
the brief silence I find inside,
when I feel like I can rest my mind for a moment.
I write to untangle the meanings from the dreams that form words I can’t speak aloud.
I write because it proves to me that those dreams exist,
and that if I can create dreams,
then goddamnit I can create moments I want to keep.
And let’s be honest, is there any difference between artistry and therapy if all we’re really doing is creating memories?"
Watching each drop of coffee fall to collect in the base of the pot.. Desperately promising me something good is going to happen today. I need this..
Sharing a room sucks. Moving home sucks. Save yourself. Be homeless.