drowning in my emotions, with the scribble of a pen.

 

stay hungry, stay free, and do the best you can

My best is worst overall

but I have to take it anyways,

and my short days are still long

but I have to wake up anyways.

I inhale and exhale even when

I do not want to make the effort,

and if someone believes that

I still have a purpose after

I feel the lethargy close in,

then so be it

but I will take a back seat

to this thing we call ‘life’

and hope the person driving

knows what the hell is going on

because I haven’t the slightest idea.

We are driving in the wrong direction

or at least that is what I am told,

and I do not feel the urge to

shout that we are headed toward

disaster and cannot turn around.

I look at you and cannot catch my breath.

The moonlight strikes your face

in such a way that no one could seem

as beautiful as you in this moment.

My hands ache for your skin,

just to prove that you are real

and not a figment of my ideal imaginations.

Your eyes mirror depths to which

I do not know how to dive

but the sight of you in front of me

is enough to make me try,

even if it kills me in the end.

I would die happier after a moment

of exposure to your affections

than after a lifetime without it

but you would not look at me

in the way I see you now,

because your beauty is of the

rarest kind and I am quite

unlovely under the night sky.

tagged by lostseasons 
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tagged by lostseasons 

1. Name 2. url 3. Blog name 4. Crush 5. Favorite color 6. Write in caps 7. Favorite bands 8. Favorite number 9. Favorite drink 10. Tag people

i do not know how to be missed.

I do not know how to be missed,

only know the steps it takes to

make someone leave.

My grenade of a heart detonates

and scatters every trace of what

I could never hold onto,

leaving holes where there used

to be carvings of emotions

from people who had scars on their minds

and knives in their hands.

I wince every time my veins pump

the sludge my blood has turned into,

ready to burst and chase away the rest

of whom I can never bring close enough.

I do not have the number of fingers it would take

to count the lives I have demolished,

or how many sleepless nights have plagued me

with bags under my eyes and

a hollowness that weighs more than any bomb.

I probably shouldn’t be this excited to read a book about children zombies who feed on blood, but to each their own.

I probably shouldn’t be this excited to read a book about children zombies who feed on blood, but to each their own.

malformalady:

Handful of black sand at Panalu’u Beach, Hawaii. Punaluʻu Beach (also called Black Sand Beach)has black sand made of basalt and created by lava flowing into the ocean which explodes as it reaches the ocean and cools.
Photo credit: Tracy Zhu

malformalady:

Handful of black sand at Panalu’u Beach, Hawaii. Punaluʻu Beach (also called Black Sand Beach)has black sand made of basalt and created by lava flowing into the ocean which explodes as it reaches the ocean and cools.

Photo credit: Tracy Zhu

thedailydoodles:

"Everyday Feels Like Sunday"
(Version 2)
He stands out in the dark, on the fire escapeThe yearning for a cigarette is nipping at his napeHe’s not sure what is wrong, but something isn’t rightIt’s just feels like how it always feels every Sunday night.
Tomorrow is always looming, and tomorrow will have broughtEverything he’s been avoiding, to pay for the guilt that he has wroughtThe air hangs so heavy; dead and dismal around his headSunday can never be enjoyed because tomorrow you’ll be dead.
The emptiness fills his lungs, as he inhales deepHe’s not sure if he should stay awake, or try to get some sleep.Everyday might feel like Sunday, but he just has to pretendThat tomorrow will be better, and someday Sunday will end.
(Starring the Timetraveler Ki!  Grab his new LP “Lawnmower Man” here!)
Wanna appear in your very own Daily Doodle?  CLICK HERE!FAQ  TWITTER  FACEBOOK  SOCIETY6

thedailydoodles:

"Everyday Feels Like Sunday"

(Version 2)

He stands out in the dark, on the fire escape
The yearning for a cigarette is nipping at his nape
He’s not sure what is wrong, but something isn’t right
It’s just feels like how it always feels every Sunday night.

Tomorrow is always looming, and tomorrow will have brought
Everything he’s been avoiding, to pay for the guilt that he has wrought
The air hangs so heavy; dead and dismal around his head
Sunday can never be enjoyed because tomorrow you’ll be dead.

The emptiness fills his lungs, as he inhales deep
He’s not sure if he should stay awake, or try to get some sleep.
Everyday might feel like Sunday, but he just has to pretend
That tomorrow will be better, and someday Sunday will end.

(Starring the Timetraveler Ki!  Grab his new LP Lawnmower Man” here!)

Wanna appear in your very own Daily Doodle?  CLICK HERE!
FAQ  TWITTER  FACEBOOK
  SOCIETY6