“Being nice makes you beautiful”? Well, sometimes, on the inside, I’m not so nice. And I have been wounded by the cruelty of this world and yes, sometimes I do let it make me cruel. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t know. Maybe.

I used to be the one that didn’t let it make me cruel.

IHBPFASTMNE

YNE

DMMKY

AMAITTRTD

IYNWMTYME

OASDIAIWDWIM

YWT

First pickup line that comes to mind (six edition)

Jane: The sparkle in your eyes is so bright, the sun must be jealous

Catalina: I’d say, ‘God bless you,’ but it looks like he already did.

Cathy: I never believed in love at first sight, but that was before I saw you.

Kat: Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I’ll give it back.

Anna: Did you get those pants for 50% off? They’re 100% off at my place.

Anne: Are you a hammer? Because you look like you should be nailing me into the wall?

Queens: …

Catalina: WHAT THE FUCK ANNE?

the dead still hope

a sort of sequel to this poem

Keep reading

CP2077 | V

Dear March 2021,

no :)

Kind regards,

The World

my mother knocks on the door and I ask for five minutes more

I’m waking up and then I’m throwing up on the floor

I’m swallowing up and sleeping it off

I do not want to hurt myself

I do not want to look the future in the face

I’m waking the same steps

taking sip after sip and smoking in the windowsill

holding my palm over the lighter’s flame and feeling cold

My mother asks if I’m ok

my friends ask if I’m ok

my brother knows it will never be ok

my father died a year ago, I can’t tell if I miss him or not

crying is ok but I can’t

my father died a year ago, I can’t tell apart anger from hurt

I’ve been numb for a year

or so I thought

I can’t breathe and my chest hurts

I can’t sleep anymore

my hands shake and I’m wide awake

my mother knocks on the door and I ask for five minutes more

reputation. track one.
… ready for it?

*looks off into distance* when will Stranger Things come back from war 😔

Thinking about how much you contain yourself is what drives me wild .

-Thank you for being my inspiration-

Peter: how do you spell separate??

Sirius: ah, here’s a little mnemonic for you

Sirius: you’ll always find ‘a rat’ in separate

Peter:

Peter: whAt??

no more silly rabbit

post stream writing speed run - Dream POV yikes.

*TW: VIOLENCE, DEATH, BLOOD, CHILD ABUSE

–

Your hands are covered in blood.

Your hands are covered in blood, the walls are covered in, there’s so much -

Crimson.

Caked in hues on your fingertips, flaking off as your dig it from your nails. From the arcs of your elbows, from the split skin of your knuckles. Smudged and thick and cauterized and consuming, flurried handprints warped around your own throat after so long.

Scarlet.

No ticking clock. No Tommy yelling.

The lava barely burbles the reprieve you need, reminding you to breathe, that you can. You can’t tell if you’re sickened by the thought, tug of war clashing at your shoulder blades. Eyes flickering to the corner, back to the palms draped over your knees. You’d done so much with these hands…

Started worlds. Ended lives.

And for what? You’d lost reason long ago, tossed aside like the warped metal you’d send into the fire to keep from remembering that time existed. That hours were passing, that you were losing ground and people and allies and your soul.

Gaze tracing the outline of a white t-shirt, frayed edges seeping maroon before your ill-tempered eyes. You wonder what you’d see reflected back in them, if Sam had given you a mirror. But you knew this prison like you knew the back of your cracking hands, knew glass meant shattered weapons and advantages. Neither of them expected fists to work just as well.

Cardinal.

Charred footsteps spill the hazy tango of Tommy’s demise, blood caking the heels of your boots, a particular pivot smeared across the floor. The finality of the pressure you’d applied, the silencing blow, connecting with a jawline that fought with vigor but skewed so young. So young…

You wonder where you’ll go from here. When Sam will come and tug the body away, when he’ll look to you in silence but vibrate with finality, with the knowledge that this was where you belonged.  Eternal.

Redemption was a lost cause, but revenge had always settled better on your tongue anyway.

Sometimes i ask myself what’s the point of doing so many things… I feel like i do everything just to fit in and be comfortable

go jawty it’s your jirthday

(Anyone wanna start a Sanders Sides fan fiction with me?)

Virgil glanced over at Patton, who was holding hands with Logan as he skipped happily down the sidewalk.