Let's pretend I said something rude and insulting, we have a big, pointless fight, and we all move on with our lives. I'm glad that's out of my system.
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.
Yeah, I think I just saved a page of bitching between me and Stephanie, so I am pickled tink and pleased as piss.
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.
You can have him, Meg. Just... try to keep him in a closet.
it's okay, actually every single person that knows i want his body has basically said the same thing. a quote from one of my friends after i sent them a picture: "wait a second .. yep, i think i just threw up a little"
we are the brand new beatniks. we are the down and outers.
we are the bleeding hearts, beating syncopated, broken rhythm.
our speed is often break neck. we need to slow it down.
tired of being sleepless. tired of being broken.
who is he?
