"

I’ve been told
that people in the army
do more by 7:00 am
than I do
in an entire day

but if I wake
at 6:59 am
and turn to you
to trace the outline of your lips
with mine
I will have done enough
and killed no one
in the process.

"
— 6:59 AM by Shane Koyczan (via meanbone)

Dreams feel real while we’re in them. It’s only when we wake up that we realize something was actually strange.



didntmakethecut: I totally just found this one and it should be tacked on to the end of the Dystopia; USA sketchdump. But in any case. More Sonea/Alexei for everyoneeee.

didntmakethecut:

I totally just found this one and it should be tacked on to the end of the Dystopia; USA sketchdump.

But in any case. More Sonea/Alexei for everyoneeee.


apocalypse not coming

gyzym:

for every glad goddamned sigh the newspapers heave
on the morning after the sun was supposed to unrise, 
there’s somebody sitting on the edge of a river-run
canyon, feet kicking and kicking against the
carved shale sides, little pebbles cascading down 
towards oblivion, just waiting. their breath is ragged
and their fists are closed and the tires of their
once good-as-new machine have been worn
down to smooth leather, tractionless but soft
to the touch, and all they want is just that one 
sign, a meteor to call them home, a crack in the sky
that oozes shit-brown in the middle of a summer
sunset.

they been looking all their life for a good excuse
to thelma and louise it, and this ain’t
the year it’s coming. 

and for every skeptic who rolls their eyes and calls
wolf-crier, there’s somebody bent near double in grief
in the corner booth at the nicest joint in town. they’re
trace-touching the bill between thumb and forefinger,
smearing cheap ink into a partial fingerprint they’ll leave
nowhere on purpose, everywhere by accident, because
they’re the goddamn ambulance chasers, the johnny-come 
anticipation-junkies, and they’re looking for something
to deliver, just this once. they’re hoping for a little
bit of dangerous to spill out from the bottle of good
merlot they bought trading on something that’s too
much a coward to show its face, and it’s not like that’s
new exactly, just flavorless, shit-scary, just so damn
disappointing.

they been waiting all their life for that last meal
to taste like everything falling apart, and this ain’t
the year it’s coming. 

now today i got the milk to uncancel, the phone to
rehook, apologies to make for all the nasty low-down
filth i spat when i thought it was all over. but the truth is,
sugar, i ain’t sorry; truth is, there’s none of us so honest
as that moment we think nobody’s coming back, as our
last confessions without guarantee, as cigarettes before
a firing squad. i’d wager we’re all of us looking for 
something, someone, leather-bare tires on the edge
of a canyon that fell to pieces too slow for our barely-
there lives to imagine. bet it tasted like disaster to rock
that changes and changes but never dies; bet it sang
a funeral dirge it didn’t think to apologize for; bet it’s 
singing still, waiting for the sky to come in for the closing
note.

and i been waiting all my life to hear that song
burn honesty into the last beat of my eardrums

but this ain’t
the year
it’s coming. 


Ailee » I Will Show You

If I ever run into you, I will give a dazzling smile
Pass by your surprised face and click clack go on my way

I will show you a completed changed me
I will show you a way prettier me
I don’t wanna cry like a fool over love, over you who left


fuckyeahournameisfun:

The Gambler - fun.

I swear when I grow up, I won’t just buy you a rose. I will buy the flower shop and you will never be lonely.


"

Fifteen ways to stay alive

1. Offer the wolves your arm only from the elbow down. Leave tourniquet space. Do not offer them your calves. Do not offer them your side. Do not let them near your femoral artery, your jugular. Give them only your arm.

2. Wear chapstick when kissing the bomb.

3. Pretend you don’t know English.

4. Pretend you never met her.

5. Offer the bomb to the wolves. Offer the wolves to the zombies.

6. Only insert a clean knife into your chest. Rusty ones will cause tetanus. Or infection.

7. Don’t inhale.

8. Realize that this love was not your trainwreck, was not the truck that flattened you, was not your Waterloo, did not cause massive hemorrhaging from a rusty knife. That love is still to come.

9. Use a rusty knife to cut through most of the noose in a strategic place so that it breaks when your weight is on it.

10. Practice desperate pleas for attention, louder calls for help. Learn them in English, French, Spanish: May Day, Aidez-Moi, Ayúdame.

11. Don’t kiss trainwrecks. Don’t kiss knives. Don’t kiss.

12. Pretend you made up the zombies, and only superheroes exist.

13. Pretend there is no kryptonite.

14. Pretend there was no love so sweet that you would have died for it, pretend that it does not belong to someone else now, pretend like your heart depends on it because it does. Pretend there is no wreck — you watched the train go by and felt the air brush your face and that was it. Another train passing. You do not need trains. You can fly. You are a superhero. And there is no kryptonite.

15. Forget her name.

"



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