"the language i speak is hate and my verbs are my fists"

clam up everytime you ever try to say anything real to anyone outloud without the red light or microphone.
endearing? pathetic?
lose the question marks.
edit.
we should do this more often.
reality television without the cameras.
a ticket. a miss. a loss. a cancellation.
i am the hot mess.
"downtown girls" are more fun, forever. like he said.
there is not a single word i could write that would make you understand how i feel right now.
please return my spirit to me.
its 8am pete, dont you dare go to sleep.

10 dollars.

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
Paul Varjak: Sure.
Holly Golightly: Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!

at night your body is a canvas

and i am the greatest artist that has ever lived.

currently: trying to lose all my sensitivies and sensibilities. gotta keep running even though we lapped them. trying to become the person i am supposed to be.

if i could do this all over i dont know that i would have called anyone at all.

"all i have in this world is a pistol and a promise, a fistful of dollars, and a list full of problems".

spent the day figuring out my size in jeans and then buying two sizes smaller. the rest of the day will be spent painting them on my body.

it gets harder everytime i have to pull out of your driveway and fly out of your life. this thing was the reason i met you and you are the reason i wrote the words and it is the reason we are ruined. itd be funny if it wasnt so pathetic.

im guessing that if you looked up jealousy in the dictionary- there would be a picture of me.

i heart upton sinclair even though he did not write the above quote.

is that your ego in your pocket pete or are you just happy to see me?

the truth is it feels foreign everytime a face graces the cover of one of "those" magazines or one of "those" countdowns. because all of the words are about how i wanted to cut my insides out. it makes me feel uneasy. the smile on my face is just so you wont ask me whats the matter.

today i thought about walking into traffic. not to die but because i am fascinated by injury. its probably good that "those" thoughts are so fleeting.

someone thought theyd go out and teach my heart a lesson.

lil' wayne "the carter 2" is keeping me out of my mind.

friends that lay together, stay together or how the thoughts in my head go, unfiltered.

forgive me for not showing more remorse- apologies were never really my thing- outside of feeling sorry for myself. the last nail in your coffin got stuck in the mail. youre gonna have to wait. until then focus on love below the waist. they say your head can be a prison- consider this a conjugal visit. my dad calls girls he dated back in highschool "old flames"- like it makes them feel better in his own head. he always asks my mother if "he's still got it?" but would anyone answer this question with a "no", like ever in history? its like i can't think of myself getting older without thinking about the way my father is 30 years older than me. theres not much that terrifies me more.

if i ever freely gave out the details of any of these events- theyd fucking lock me up and throw away the key. but thats okay as long as the place has 24 hour room service and a stocked mini bar.

everything everwhere is a roll of the dice. and the best way to make it through life with hearts and wrists intact is to realize "two out of three aint so bad". except when you throw a hail mary and its not caught. dont bet it all on anyone, ever, except yourself.

ive got alot of "Friends" but only one or two friends. you wouldnt like me if you saw the inside of my head but you might love me anyway.

everyone sends the everyone the same lyrics as though they were written exactly for their hearts. but they werent. they were written because someone had a mortgage to pay.

noone owes me anything. no empathy or truth, little trinkets or kind words. at the end of the day im just a boy. and i know that. im okay with that.

she is a STARVINGmakeupARTIST. we exchanged sloppy kisses in the rain until i realized that she was only in it for the rain.

"tell the world to leave me the fuck alone, ie "please find me a home"..."