(Source: machete)

I don’t wanna say anything anymore.

I just want to feel. But, if I say no more how will you know?

God I hope you do.

saturninefilms:

It’s high-school all over again.  It’s expulsion.  It’s prom.
It’s a blow-job in a bathroom stall.  It’s semen and it’s bubblegum sweet.
It’s the easy way out and the hardest route back in.
It’s implosion.  It’s exploding.  It’s drowning and evaporation.
It’s a gimmick and a trademark.  It’s a tattoo underneath skin.
It’s something you shouldn’t ever breathe in.

It’s exploitation of soul and self.  It’s a self-help book and worthless.
It’s everything you wish you weren’t and everything I used to be.
It’s a body so bereft of shame.  It’s sweat and come and candy canes.
It’s lust and loss and lips locked tight.  It’s a secret and it’s not.
It’s Christmas time and New Year’s Eve.  It’s a birthday cake and aspartame.
It’s dressed as something different, but it still looks just the same.

It’s not useful but I’m useless.  It’s uninviting and it’s cold.
It’s winter as it’s ending and it’s hard to feel the warmth.
It’s refusal and admittance.  It’s the lack of both.  It’s dumb.
It’s disposable and garbage.  It’s the bane of youth and elderly.
It’s a liver spot and cancer.  It is worthless.  It’s no good.
It’s something I cannot define, though it’s something that I should.

It’s something buried deep within me and something I’ll be buried with.

Now I retire to my ds… fuck you all.

night

debating if I should write or play final fantasy…. I need to do some shit to clear my mind though.

But, I kinda wanna write and escape in my mind… decisions decisions decisions.

Sometimes I want a somber love. Where if you were to take a picture the natural color wouldn’t even be black and white, that’s too dramatic. But a shade of grey. I’d hold her from behing, with a straight face looking relatively down but my face high enough so you can know I’m not looking at her breast, or her body, but into the very soul she carries. She would look straight or down too, looking through all those peering at her, or down at the arms holding her, seeing the force that courses through them.

Why a somber love? Why not a love full of smiles? Because a somber love is a serious love, and seriously, I’m done playing around with my heart.