May 2013
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she’s there again in the corner of the dark bar drinking wine, rum and irish coffees lost in the forest of memories fighting bears, claws & trees blacking out really screwed her up real good
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he was that type of guy— he was five o’ clock shadows, sandalwood musk, and salty sea air she was a wanderer; a journal, a pencil in hand, a book of crossword puzzles half finished they crossed paths, loved these things in each other, but never met
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reality is not a hashtag, a status update or a reblog & sanity is not mobile devices vibrating non stop; and it’s most certainly not taking pictures of food before you eat it slapping away hands of your “friends” because they’re endangering your “art” we’re all in an asylum
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Why is John Mayer’s music the epitome of perfection? I feel so relaxed while trying to write right now; this feeling is amazing.
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he greeted me with a smile that melted my bulletproof heart (enclosed in a brick palace with guards who held swords, guns, anything that would inflict some sort of damage) into a pool of sin laced with kerosene & pulled dreams from the bottom of a dank wishing well dreams of a happy place a man and a woman smiles a plenty creeping across the face but everything was twisted convoluted...
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i survived on two breaths to tell you i’d never stop (abrupt pause that took your breath away for a moment in time) loving you and the last thing i would ever see tears zigzagging down your face as you shook your head no over and over again
and they fell onto my cold cheeks
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waiting
always burned my tongue on hot liquids, froze my mind with icy cream & slushes tap tap tap my pencil, my fingers, anything on table tops to pass the time as i was waiting but i waited for you never thinking that time would stop and lead me to you because i’ve been waiting 21 years to live and love but was only consciously waiting for six months for you when old love failed & it...
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epiicer:
She wants the (ol)d (sport)
Now all you can do is wait. It must be hard for you, but there is a right time...
– Haruki Murakami, The Wind Up Bird Chronicle (via kaennomai)
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writing exercise, first line is a quote from an...
I write only because there is a voice inside of me that will not be still. It shakes within me like the ‘89 earthquake, tearing down any buildings in its path. It forces chimneys to stumble and crack into driveways. But even beyond all these obstacles, you stand in my way. I know I have to get people to leave me; they stand in my way of what I hope to achieve. I know I have to make them back down...
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Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
– William Shakespeare, The Tempest.
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& she’s there again sweeping leaves, planting flowers, singing songs she puts a flower in your hair, puts a hand over your heart, puts candy in your backpack she lures you in; beartraps you with a smile & takes you home
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April 2013
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When I catch my pencil from falling
fuckyeahlaughters:
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tongue tied in a knot i don’t know how to talk; boy scouts can’t undo this
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she reeks of secrets never told; the pretty ones are the best liars
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she’s in misery her corset strapped tight all she wants is bathroom lust (lights blaze across the room flashing a never-ending strobe-light of pinks and greens but she’s translucent as the people feel the beat and not each other) but to no avail she’s paper mache and nails pieces of a puzzle searching for the last piece she’s dropped but to no avail
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I’m trying to move forward and forget how ridiculous people are sometimes. We’re humans, we have flaws. But why do these flaws cause some people to overcompensate? I’ve come across people struggling to become intellects, struggling to be something in this world, people who hide their imperfections and point out the flaws in others to distract from their own, and people who try...
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Writing while at work is a good way to pass the time and temporarily make me forget that I’m tired of standing on my feet.
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