A Tear From My Drunken Eye
A Tear From My Drunken Eye

man on the street
                              corner—
                                           every
                                           day.

a n t s
              e v e r y w h e r e

     step/ smoosh/ stomp/ crunch/

              i kiss my knuckles—
                 keep you on (the souls of)
                 my shoes.

everybody
dying—
                            step/ smoosh/ stomp/ stop/

every
body.

aspergerhamburgerhamhamburglar:

and when i close
  my mouth we drown
        in yesterday’s
        blood filled shadow— 

the candles drip/ cold.
in the mornings i cough
up red dreams,

   it used to be my favorite color,
   i used to be your favorite sunrise. 

today i experienced déjà vu of having déjà vu of having déjà vu

i sneeze
glitter,

   celebrate
   my sickness—
         decorate
      death. 

first name.
last name.

    i am human
                      (being)

#0781933275.

   i breathe 
   balloons,
     i breathe,
              i breathe,
                                 i breathe,
                                                                 i  

                                                                                          pop!

You're awesome and an amazing person!

hahaaah a blog that srsly just compliments ppl? literally? literally. you are like the human form of a happy meal. ba da ba ba baa i’m lovin’ it. 

While gazing at myself from yourself, I was beautiful.
Dejan Stojanovic, The Shape (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

the moon has left splinters in my side,
i’ve been sleeping on sheets
that smell like addiction—
heaven/ our gateway
drug.

  my blood tosses & turns,
  life/ restless. death/ breath-
  less

      and less and less, 
      my eyes lick the dark
             corners of the sky.

i cut my cheek
on a ray of sunshine—

       it looks like a smile 
                       (in the right light)

and maybe i thought your eyes
were my neon exit sign,

             maybe we’re just blind,
                                                          maybe i’ve been
                                                          on the wrong 
                                                          side of the street
                                                          this whole time.

The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself.
Mark Twain (via sunst0ne)
A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow.
Charlotte Bronte