the bottle is empty.
your gone away again
but its not so devastating this time and I don’t know if that’s a good thing, I had started to feel you slipping away when you were still free. Though..
maby it was me who was fading from our mission, we both know I tend to succumb to my boughts of insanity.
I fucking the THIS internal state of lostness I am submerged in so much its unbarable, wasteful of time, its lonely and bleak, its void of emotion, motivation and drive.
I can see the full moon through our window baby can you see it too?
god I already miss the feel of you breathing so rythimiticly while I lay on your rising and falling chest slipping in to the dream scape.
I need that sound to sleep in the bed we have made
I need you here to keep me out of the dark places my mind takes me
I want you to be happy and safe
I want you to see the world the way we used to on the roof tops at 3am
but nothing simpol is apparently ever so easy to obtain
so I will wait again
I will do better this time
and when you are free once more we will not be set back but pushed forward.
the bottle is empty.
i want to run and scream and laugh and get wasted like we did when we first met. when we would lay in the itchy grass in our hippy park and inhale the not so great but alright weeds wed just bought, while we talked about nothing and watched the trees transform with the breeze. back when we would walk all through the night laughing and sharing our true thoughts of life and climb on to the roof tops and watch the sun rise over tree tops. i want one more day with you wear we wont worry or stress or be interrupted by life. one more day of that feeling you gave me that made me believe i could float away if i tried and that the world could truly be a beautiful place and all the seemingly absolute tiding that accompany becoming an adult of the world maby would never apply to us. i miss you my lovey, the you that would come out and play. i need that you back now because im truly starting to become lonely
12 Literary Quotes About Fathers
- It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived. ~Harper Lee
- All fathers are invisible in daytime; daytime is ruled by mothers and fathers come out at night. Darkness brings home fathers, with their real, unspeakable power. There is more to fathers than meets the eye. ~Margaret Atwood
- When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years. ~Mark Twain
- Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes. ~Markus Zusak
- He breathed in [my mother’s] hair, the sweet-smelling thickness of it. My father usually agreed with her requests, because stamped in his two-footed stance and jaw was the word Provider, and he loved her the way a bird-watcher’s heart leaps when he hears the call of the roseate spoonbill, a fluffy pink wader, calling its lilting coo-coo from the mangroves. Check, says the bird-watcher. Sure, said my father, tapping a handful of mail against her back. ~Aimee Bender
- Few sons are like their fathers - many are worse, few better. ~Homer
- Perhaps that is what it means to be a father - to teach your child to live without you. ~Nicole Krauss
- Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later… that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called Being a Father so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life. ~Tom Wolfe
- Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother’s face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. ~Suzanne Collins
- A man knows when he is growing old because he begins to look like his father. -Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- The father is always a Republican toward his son, and his mother’s always a democrat. ~Robert Frost
- I killed the monsters. That’s what fathers do. ~Fiona Wallace
compiled by Amanda Patterson
I am not happy. I am not unhappy. I am frozen somewhere in the middle that is so much worse. I am NOWHERE. Nothing is happening and I am getting more and more sad.
—Samantha Schutz, I Don’t Want to be Crazy (via endangerment)
“It’s taboo to admit that you’re lonely. You can make jokes about it, of course. You can tell people that you spend most of your time with Netflix or that you haven’t left the house today and you might not even go outside tomorrow. Ha ha, funny. But rarely do you ever tell people about the true depths of your loneliness, about how you feel more and more alienated from your friends each passing day and you’re not sure how to fix it. It seems like everyone is just better at living than you are.
A part of you knew this was going to happen. Growing up, you just had this feeling that you wouldn’t transition well to adult life, that you’d fall right through the cracks. And look at you now. La di da, it’s happening.
Your mother, your father, your grandparents: they all look at you like you’re some prized jewel and they tell you over and over again just how lucky you are to be young and have your whole life ahead of you. “Getting old ain’t for sissies,” your father tells you wearily.
You wish they’d stop saying these things to you because all it does is fill you with guilt and panic. All it does is remind you of how much you’re not taking advantage of your youth.
You want to kiss all kinds of different people, you want to wake up in a stranger’s bed maybe once or twice just to see if it feels good to feel nothing, you want to have a group of friends that feels like a tribe, a bonafide family. You want to go from one place to the next constantly and have your weekends feel like one long epic day. You want to dance to stupid music in your stupid room and have a nice job that doesn’t get in the way of living your life too much. You want to be less scared, less anxious, and more willing. Because if you’re closed off now, you can only imagine what you’ll be like later.
Every day you vow to change some aspect of your life and every day you fail. At this point, you’re starting to question your own power as a human being. As of right now, your fears have you beat. They’re the ones that are holding your twenties hostage.
Stop thinking that everyone is having more sex than you, that everyone has more friends than you, that everyone out is having more fun than you. Not because it’s not true (it might be!) but because that kind of thinking leaves you frozen. You’ve already spent enough time feeling like you’re stuck, like you’re watching your life fall through you like a fast dissolve and you’re unable to hold on to anything.
I don’t know if you ever get better. I don’t know if a person can just wake up one day and decide to be an active participant in their life. I’d like to think so. I’d like to think that people get better each and every day but that’s not really true. People get worse and it’s their stories that end up getting forgotten because we can’t stand an unhappy ending. The sick have to get better. Our normalcy depends upon it.
You have to value yourself. You have to want great things for your life. This sort of shit doesn’t happen overnight but it can and will happen if you want it.
Do you want it bad enough? Does the fear of being filled with regret in your thirties trump your fear of living today?
We shall see.”
My parents always tell me
to never fall in love with someone else
who has baggage.
The problem with that is it disproves this fact:
you have been places and you
are going places, separately from and with me.
I want to lie down in bed with you
and have you lay out all of your suitcases.
I want you to show me the dress you
wore when you were seven and that neighborhood
girl, Sara, kissed you on the nose.
I want you to show me the pair of shoes
you wore when we first met, with your
shoe laces so dirty from walking
around this city and finding pieces
of yourself in the alleyways.
Please lay out that gown you wore
those three days when you were in the hospital
with scars on your skin because
it was easier to hate yourself than to love.
Please let me hold that bracelet
you threw into the Ocean from the first
boy that broke your heart and ended up
kissing another girl that same night
and taking her home, fucking her
so hard that the Milky Way wasn’t
a good enough metaphor
to articulate how he felt coming
I will dress you up in my
eighteen year old skin where B.
and I sat instead of danced during
prom, crying over certain things
that we could not keep inside for
much longer. I will let you wear
that sweater I wore the first night
I kissed you underneath a street lamp,
as the snow was falling into the light,
I was falling into you, wholeheartedly.
I will let you wear that shirt you slipped
over your self after that first night we spent
together, in bed, learning how to love someone
properly, in a more physical sense than ever before.
And then I want to pack all of these bags
and stuff them back into our lungs,
so that our histories will always leak out of
our breath. We will not forget
how heavy we felt once and how light we feel now,
in comparison. I want to know your history, simply,
even the darkest corners, so maybe me being there
will make them lighter and make both of us
appreciate the dim light of the Moon
because it was there, even if we did not always
Good creatures, do you love your lives
And have you ears for sense?
Here is a knife like other knives,
That cost me eighteen pence.
I need but stick it in my heart
And down will come the sky,
And earth’s foundations will depart
And all you folk will die.
This is the poem that inspired my poem Armageddon
*Side note- I think A.E. Housman is a very underrated poet
Thus I spoke, more and more softly; for I was afraid of my own thoughts and the thoughts behind my thoughts.
—Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (via invisiblestories)
Sitting up all night would be pointless if somebody you loved wasn’t sitting up with you, picking out music to play and helping you kill the bourbon. Walking by yourself in the rain is for college kids who think loneliness makes poets.
—Peter S. Beagle - A Fine and Private Place (via maza-dohta)