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The worst part is I don't even have her face, I have his. I wish I had the kindness of her eyes. Instead, every day I wake up and the mirror is just another reminder of him. His brown eyes, his sharp angled face, and his spirit. His hands, his feet. His anger. His rage. It's all mine. All of it. Sometimes it makes me hate myself. Everyone thinks I'm his carbon copy. "Just like his father," they say. Well they don't know how much it hurts me. They don't know what he really was. They don't know the pain and bruises I carry around because of him to this day. Nobody lived the life me and my mom did. They saw the best side of him. We suffered through the worst. I can honestly say I'm glad he's gone now. And all I want is to erase his face. It was all him. And he was the sum of it all—he was the only mistake my mother made.
More Posts from Xsuspencexkillsx and Others
with tears in my eyes, I begged you to stay/you said, “hey man, I love you, but no fucking way” or (kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face)
Sorry for professing my undying love for you. Can we go back to just being two dudes who flirt with each other in a really funny, totally one-hundred-percent platonic way? I’m sorry for telling you I thought you looked kissable tonight. When I first met you I fell hard. You’re the reason we got together and the reason we broke up. (Not really. That had more to do with being left on read for weeks.) When you don’t answer I get scared. I even started checking the obituaries by Day Four. I’ve never believed in anything as strongly as I believe you in you. This is love, and it’s bitter. It’s sour, and it’s awful, and it’s ugly, but I’ve felt it in my bones for two years now, so I know it won’t just go away. You’re the rhythm guitar in my heart. I asked you to join my band just so you’d always be there. Even if you can hardly play, you’re still my first choice. I want you with me for the rest of my life. I hope you don’t see this shit. I think I’d die. Well, this is the part where I admit I’m tired cause it’s two a.m. and I’m probably sick again. Goodnight.
–S.S. (yours)
best friends, ex-friends ‘til the end. better off as lovers (not the other way around.)
You get out of the hospital again. I’ve been worried sick. I’ve left you a dozen messages. What do you do? Do you call? Text? Tell me you’re home safe? No, you go to fucking Disneyworld while I’m worried sick, scared that the man I love is hurting. Scared that you might never come home. So I can’t forgive you for this. Not that you’ll apologize anyway. I spill my guts to you, I tell you the hell I’ve gone through, and you only acknowledge our two-month anniversary. I tell you everything hurts and you recite lyrics from a 2010 radio hit. You tell me you love me and it feels hollow and empty.
Maybe your mom is controlling, but you’re the one who won’t make any efforts to see me. I’d walk through hell for you, and you won’t even call me back. I’m not even tired of your shit like I was before. I’m just angry. You’re so distant I can’t even get you on the phone to tell you I don’t think this will work out. Better off as friends, that’s how I’ll put it. But the truth is worse, because it’s true that truth hurts. You can’t even care enough to get up off your ass and do something, anything to get to see me. And I can’t be the only person in this relationship willing to do everything. I hate your favorite color and your favorite singer now. I hate your stupid, pretty face and your last name. I hate your bleached hair and hazel eyes. I hate the way I look at you. I hate that it hurts so much to say goodbye. I hate that it hurts so much to love you.
I’m 17?? What the fuck.
Courtney Love is actually super hot, you’re all just wrong btw
hope this helps!! 🩷🩷🩷
WWWY
On my way to When We Were Young fest. I can’t wait to scream along to the songs that honestly saved my life when I was at my lowest. Music has always been there for me when shit got tough.
A picture from my flight. There’s so many clouds in the sky. The view is beautiful in an ethereal sort of way. I want to jump from the plane and fall further and further through the clouds. I want them to become tangible, to hold and cradle me, to lift my head up and make me feel at peace. Make me feel alive.
Taking off, as I watched the city become smaller and smaller, I had a strange sense of nostalgia. I remember the first time I overcame my fear of flying. I was a small child and the thought of being thousands of feet in the air terrified me. But when I finally allowed myself to get on a plane, I was struck by how beautifully insignificant the world seems when you’re drifting through the clouds. When your feet are no longer on the ground and your whole body feels like it’s floating. That’s when the reality of life is the most vivid. When thoughts are the most constructed and careful. I love the view of life from the this vantage point. It’s amazing.
The moutains of Las Vegas. I think they speak for themselves. I’m fuckin pumped for tomorrow. Really hope I can sleep tonight.
The body of Christ as a symbol of self-punishment. (or, stigmata)
I’m a seven year old boy’s little green toy soldier, crushed and broken under the weight of his father’s work boots. I’ve fought in a thousand wars. I flinch at the sound of rough hands. God has forsaken me, even in my dying breath. Maybe my prayers never work, not because he can’t hear me, but because he chooses not to. Because he hates what I am. He despises me, yet I amuse him. I am The Divine’s favorite plaything. I’m made of duct tape and scars. It’s a vicious cycle of patching myself up, and falling apart. Nobody hears me beg. Nobody listens to my pleas. I cry out once for every punishing lash of the belt.
buried so deep even god won’t find me
will people PLEASE stop arguing with me (in real life) and trying to convince me I am gay?? I pulled a Misha Collins. I walked it back. I officially became the only man in Texas ever to come out as straight. So fucking believe me and leave me alone about it. I’m so repressed even if I was into men, I wouldn’t tell you!
also I realize ppl are gonna see this and argue with me about it, but uh, I’m just irritated rn…
‘If you’re the only one who knows the truth, only you can hurt yourself’
The city is endless and it is dark. When there’s nowhere left for me to run, the city holds me in its arms. All I’ve ever asked of it was for a ‘’safe place’’ to fall apart. Drowning in the reservoir, if I go too deep into my mind. An optical illusion you can only see if you’re on the inside (---in on the joke.) Ha ha ha. Laughing at me, a thousand smiling faces— a thousand more memories. There’s something hiding in the shadows, in a corner. In my closet, behind a shelf. This is why I keep all the mirrors locked up. It can't hurt you if its not really there Scratch it out, scratch it out, scratch it— The record skips again, passing me over for the eight thousand, six hundred, and forty ninth time. All I want is.. a second chance? A do over–again and again, Like an infinite loop inside my messed up head. ‘’Don't you think you'd be better off like the living dead?’’ Paranoia follows in my footsteps, A stalker in the night. He can never hope to catch up to me. I live in his house in the daylight. When the sun sets I sleep in the crowded streets. Begging for scraps of meat. Won't you grant me a sweet relief? I promise I’ll stay by your side, day and night. Like the hound that haunts you/Is this what it feels like to know Nobody wants you?
