I wake up
at four in the morning
and taste smoke
in the back of my throat.
I swear to god,
you’re still burning
somewhere inside me.
there are approximately 1,013,913 words in the english language but i could never string any of them together to explain how much i want to hit you with a chair.
I remember crying over you and I don’t mean a couple of tears and I’m blue. I’m talking about collapsing and screaming at the moon.
It’s so difficult to describe depression to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness. I know sadness. Sadness is to cry and to feel. But it’s that cold absence of feeling— that really hollowed-out feeling.
*aggressively doesn’t know*
"well, i read a lot"
"cool! what kind of stuff do you like to read?"
"oh, you know, mostly amateur erotica based on existing media franchises"
I liked who I was with you,
don’t you understand,
when somebody you deeply care for leaves,
they’re never the only one you lose.
*loses bobby pins and hair ties*
*loses internet connection*
i really wanna kiss you and be cute with you and fall asleep in your arms and go on stupid dates but i also sort of want to light you on fire and throw myself into traffic so idk