Dear Goldaline,

Honesty and relatable subjects.
Ask me anything
“

”

Whiskey and Prayer

“Pick something.”
“what do you want to watch?”
“I don’t care.”
“Top Gun?”
“What’s it about?”
“I don’t know. Tom Cruise I think.”
“I don’t care just pick something.”

And the whole time she’s tugging at your arm waiting for you to be done picking something. So you do, and roll over, and for the next 30 minutes, you trace only appropriate body parts while she lands only appropriate kisses. Your cheek, your nose, anywhere inches away from your lips.
In the morning, neither of you remember how you fell asleep. But you know that several hours later, you woke up hand in hand while she slept.

“

Let’s get fucked up and die.
I’m speaking figuratively, of course.
Like the last time that I committed suicide, social suicide.
Yeah, so I’m already dead on the inside,
But I can still pretend with my memories and photographs,
I have learned to love the lie.

I wanna know what it’s like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent.
I wanna know how it feels to be useful and pertinent and have common sense.
Let me in, let me in to the club, because I wanna belong,
And I need to get strong, and if memory serves,
I’m addicted to words and they’re useless.

(In this department)

Let’s get fucked up and die.
I’m riding hard on the last legs of every lie,
And the BMX bike of my life is about to explode,
I’m about to explode.
I’m a mess, I’m a wreck.
I am perfect, and I have learned to accept all my problems and short comings,
Cause I am so visceral, yet deeply inept.

I want to thank you for being a part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
And all the things that don’t get old.
Is it legal to do this? I surely don’t know.
It’s the only way I have learned to express myself through other peoples’ descriptions of life.
I’m afraid I’m alone and entirely useless.

(In this department)
Let’s get fucked up and die.
For the last time with feeling
we’ll try not to smile
As we cover our heads and drink heavily into the nights
That still shock and surprise.
I believe that I can, overcome this and beat everything in the end
But I choose to abuse for the time being,
maybe I’ll win, but for now I’ve decided to die.

Sister soldier
You’ve been such a positive influence on my mental frame
If I could ever repay you,
I would, but I’m hard up for cash
And my memory lacks initiative.

God damn the liquor store’s closed,
we were so close to scoring
it hurts, it destroys ‘til it kills.
I am tired and hungry and totally useless.
(In this department)

”

Motion City Sound Track

“

Suddenly, between sheets and eyelids
I am reminded why I don’t do this.
I fall in love far too quickly,
I don’t want her to forget me
when she’s gone.

Will you call?
Will you write?

”

The Format

December

Another death upon the mountain top.
Are lives are nothing but some real shit luck.
Remember when we used to give a fuck?
Well I don’t think the lord understands.

Fake Plastic Trees

She looks like the real thing.
She tastes like the real thing.
My fake, plastic love.

crazy-karl:

i want this.

this thing called love.

i want to know its real.

(Source: waitingforpeanut)

Still reading?

I didn’t lie.
It was more of a
falsification.

Because in the moment standing there by the washing machine,
holding it in my hand, beautiful and crumpled, but delicately soft like it was
so much more than what it was-
I knew I’d forget to ask for a new linen.

A tiny and thin-woven collection of fabric-
“Favorite T American Outfitters”
all in cursive with the cliche and swooping capital letters,
but kept in hand because

it was more than what it was.
Because she had worn it two days ago-
The second day-
until still not long after everyone had said goodbye.

Worn it, while she waited in the kitchen.

I lied, and said it didn’t make it.
But, in reality, I placed it back in the dirty laundry
and waited until you left
to bring it back into my bedroom
to sleep with every night
until I wash it the night before
I find a way to bring you here again. 

I make way too much sausage.

I make way too much sausage.

Spot on.

Spot on.

(Source: demonica)

it takes more than fucking someone to keep yourself warm.

goddamnitjenny:

i’m drunk, i’m drunk.. & you’re probably on pills.

if we’ve both got the same diseases, it’s irrelevant.

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