“baby, you and me are a desperate breed
take your mind off prying eyes
they don’t mean much to me”
-Age of Rockets, Ship to Shore
cold hands in company
you fell for how it felt
~ Monday, April 6 ~
~ Friday, March 27 ~
if i live til fifty, i will be
thirty one years older
than you will ever be.
there was never a time
when you were not
older than me by
one month and a
baker’s dozen of days;
i was younger than you
and shorter than you,
and that was two strikes,
but you struck the final out
when you kicked the stool
and snapped your neck
(i hate the fact that i still miss you)
~ Monday, March 16 ~
when it was march, it was your birthday and i gave
you faery wings because of that time you said you
wanted to fly (you were high, but i didn’t really think
that it mattered) ‘cause i knew you would look
beautiful against the backdrop of the blue icing sky
~ Thursday, March 12 ~
“ I tell you: one must have chaos within oneself, to give birth to a dancing star.
— Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra
~ Saturday, March 7 ~
and we never apologize to each other
‘cause i know that you never mean it
and you know that i’m much too good at lying
~ Thursday, March 5 ~
how did i not know about these videos? i can’t believe ucla has a youtube account. this is hilarious. i should really spend more time on youtube. ohh, rez life.
~ Sunday, March 1 ~
“and sometimes when you’re on
you’re really fucking on
and your friends they sing along
and they love you
but the lows are so extreme
that the good seems fucking cheap
and it teases you for weeks in its absence
but you’ll fight to make it through
you’ll fake it if you have to
and you’ll show up for work with a smile.”
-Rilo Kiley, A Better Son/Daughter
~ Friday, February 27 ~
~ Saturday, February 21 ~
~ Tuesday, February 17 ~
five days after i’ve died, he comes to my funeral to throw crushed flower petals and butterfly wings on top of my coffin.
he spins around the darkly-clothed people congregated around my grave, and with his arms open wide, he pretends he’s flying.
as he praises my decaying beauty and hallowed eyes, he shoves a knife into his chest.
he rubs his fingers in the blood around the wound, and the world begins to seem brighter but less visible, a collection of fuzzy images and senseless sounds that have neither beginning nor end.
all he clearly sees is how the bridge separating the two of us is shortening until we are no more than a step apart.
we fall into each other, becoming of the same body as his blood envelopes us like a blanket.
we are nipping and biting and kissing teeth as we fall off the bridge into the river below, chained in a drowning embrace.
ohh yes, we are the star-cross’d lovers in a generation of crackwhores, and forget-me-nots were always our song.
