Weighing up the pros and cons of living when you’re terminally unhappy does not make you feel better about your life.

I swear every girl I walk past is ‘the one’ for me. Feeling like Mark Corrigan 24/7.

I don’t really look at what people actually post any more. I just look at the icon to see who posted it and decide how much I hate them.

I like the way some peoples coats feel. I like the sound some people make when they take deep breaths. I like the way some people rustle paper when they’re reading. I like the way some peoples neck smell. I like the way some people stay up all night. I like the way some people wake up super early to make the most of their day. I like the way some people are liked by everyone. I like the way some people make eye contact with me and I don’t mind it. I like the way some people lick their lips. I like the way some people sit. I like the way I feel when some people stand next to me. But I don’t like all of these things on any one person, and it scares me.

Anonymous asked: where are you from?

the block, like Jenny

And if I could swim, I’d swim out to you in the ocean. I’d swim  out to where you were floating, in the dark. And if I was blessed, I’d walk on the water you’re breathing to lend you some air for that heaving, sunken chest. They chose you as the model for their empty little dreams. With your new head and your legs spread like a filthy magazine. And they hunt you and they gut you and you give in.
If I was brave, I’d climb up to you on the mountain. They led you to drink from their fountain, spouting lies. I’d slay the horrible beast they commissioned to steer me away from my mission to your eyes. I’d stand their like a soldier with my foot upon his chest, with my grin spread and my arms out in my bloodstained Sunday’s best. You’d hold me, I’d remind you who you are, under that shell…
I’d walk through hell for you, let it burn right through my shoes. These soles are useless without you. Let the torturing ensue, my soul is useless without you.
If they send a whirlwind I’d hug it like a harmless little tree, or an earthquake, I’d calm it and bring you back to me. I’d hold you in my week arms like a first born. 
Now I’ve walked through hell for you, what’s an adventurer to do but rest these feet at home with you. 

It’s official, I have run out of things to do on the internet.