You know, it’s funny. Everyone always says no matter what you can call on them. It’s one of human beings favourite things to say. Sounds so humane, so caring, kudos points. Well apart from Sam. Sam told me outright what the truth is about everyone else that when it got to that no matter what moment I couldn’t call him. When I scroll through the contacts on my phone I just can’t think of who’s number to click on every single person I can think of a reason not to and so I don’t and I live with over 400 other people but I can’t think of a good enough reason to knock on their door so I just end up sitting here alone when I am sad. Because the whole world is only company when I am happy. When everything is good. When everything is fine. No stress, no pressure, no effort. No commitment.

I have a boyfriend of two years and the most real life live close acquaintances I’ve had probably ever in my life but I am so painfully excruciatingly lonely. I think I have probably never felt so truly alone. Or really ever had the dawning realisation before that you really are truly alone. Which kind of makes me pathetic.

So hi, hullo. This is my confession. Sometimes I want to be alone. Totally alone. Not in a romantic oh I want to go on a long road trip alone. Some nights like tonight I want to stop trying to force connections because it might be less painful if I stopped trying. If I hadn’t tried I wouldn’t have disappointment and hurt. I want to just absorb myself in my every day routine without human contact. Without relationships. I want out of every single person I’ve ever met. Humans disgust me more than they ever have before in my lifetime. They literally make my stomach turn some days. Now that I can see through people’s true intentions and their true meanings behind their actions it just makes me feel sick. The world is sick. I don’t see any beauty in it anymore. People don’t make me happy because I just wonder what their motivation is, what the disgusting secret it is that I have yet to find out about them. The way that people have treated me and others around them makes me deeply sad. It makes me blue.

Sometimes, like tonight, I want to harm myself even though I still have quite deep scars that I wear on my hips that I worry will stop me from passing medicals for my dreams one day. That is the only thing that stops me. I dream of it, I lust over it. I disgust myself. Some nights, or at some insignificant moment of a day, I replay the things that people have done to hurt me in my head with heart shredding imaginative accuracy. I think about my cat that drowned 7 years ago a lot, and if I could have saved her. I torture myself with the guilt. I torture myself with the guilt of my rabbit who was taken by a fox when he was in his cage because I was 12 and lazy, and my mother was also lazy, and I wonder if I had been less lazy I could have saved him. I wonder if he was cold when he was by the riverbank and if nobody bothered to look for him there. I would have looked for him there. I replay him cheating on me over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over again in graphic detail. I wonder what his thoughts where. What it felt like. If he ever felt guilty. If it felt good. I look up the girls he cheated on me with. I want to be their friends. I let myself be repulsed. I think that sex is disgusting. I feel disgusted when I want sex, when I masturbate, when I’m horny. I feel like I’m no better than an animal. I don’t want to have those feelings anymore.

I miss certain ex’s and wonder if they think of me I’m nostalgic to the point of being wasteful with my time. I wonder what went through their heads after they left me. If they missed me. If they were relieved. I wonder how they are I wonder what their live is like now. I wonder if I was more than a pencil mark in theirs. I feel weak when I miss them. It makes me feel desperate. It makes me hate myself. I wonder sometimes if I will cross paths with people from my past again and if that would make me happy and what we would say. This helps me sleep at night. I like to dream of it.

And sometimes, when I am weakest of all, I just want to kill myself. Which I know is selfish, and makes me hate myself more deeply. My father is dying of cancer, my grandpa just died of cancer, both of them would have wanted more time, and yet, I want to eradicate mine just so I can’t feel everyday pain that everyone else copes with just fine. I am just a self absorbed selfish little girl.

It kills me that I cannot forge connections like I used to. I cannot see the beauty and the art in anything anymore. Even the sadness. I can’t see the love. I feel like I’m in a fish bowl, constantly, with really thin glass and I just can never quite touch it. I just can’t quite force myself to care when I know that eventually they will hurt me, disgust me, let me down, make me hate one more part of myself. I miss company. I miss feeling love. I miss things having weight, and significance. I don’t know if I still believe in love. I most certainly don’t believe that anybody will ever love me.

Everytime I feel trapped inside my own mind again I just feel like this is going to be the routine over and over for the rest of my life. When I feel like I’m losing the grip again. When I feel like the cycle is starting over. I am tired. I am tired, I am tired, I am tired. I am useless. I have no purpose. I have no place.

Sometimes I go days avoiding mirrors. If I don’t look at my face I might not register the humanity of it all. That I am alive.

But tonight. Tonight I feel lonely. Tonight I want to kill myself. Tonight I want to run away. Tonight I want to disappear and have nobody notice I am gone. Tonight I want someone to care if I’m gone, I want to feel noticed, I want to feel missed, I want to feel loved, I want to feel important. I am listening to old songs. I am crying. Tonight I want to feel like I can touch something.

And I have nobody to tell. And that is completely and utterly my own fault.



"Just as fast as we fell in love, she disappeared. And I knew she had just used me. She was an intellectual, and I was a thug. And I just stared at the ceiling all day remembering the first time we fucked. On my couch. In Sunnyside. After a rainstorm. On a Thursday. And then one day after being fucked up for months I realised something. I didn’t know her. She didn’t know me. Just because I tasted her cum and spit or could tell you her middle name or what records she liked, that doesn’t mean anything. That’s not a connection. Anyone can have that. Really knowing someone is something else. It’s a completely different thing, and when it happens you won’t be able to miss it. You will be aware. And you won’t hurt. Or be afraid."


If I could play back every moment to you now. Spent lovesick, and swollen on. Mornings mincing garlic on the counter by the sink. If I could hit the instant replay. Or know the every good day. Would any other catch you by surprise.

When you say something is missing now, that’s what came back to me. Normal mornings like that, and the night that I thought I’d forget where I left it. Making breakfast, put coffee on the stove, and scour every cabinet for the knife.

Don’t be shy. Don’t be kind. Somewhere snow collects and bends the boughs of pines.

But doesn’t it seem a bit wasteful to you to throw away all of the time we spent, perfecting our love in close quarters and confines. Isn’t it wasteful. And I am terrified that it doesn’t feel painful to me yet. Somewhere on top of the high-rise there’s a woman on the edge of a building at the ledge, and traffics backing up on 35. It’s alright, I will fix whatever is not for sweetness in your life. Just sit down, please, sit down, here at the table and we’ll talk. Somewhere televisions light up in the night.

I know things weren’t right. Maybe we were never cut out for the Midwest life. Maybe we’d have done much better on the coast. There are certain things I doubt we’ll ever know. I know you were getting tired of my drinking - I guess I was never cut out for the coke scene. You worried I would end up like your father. Tired of the smoke.

And somewhere the wind blows. Somewhere a storm touches down North in Hudsonville. Somewhere the coffee starts to boil on a stove. And somewhere the wind blows. Somewhere the river levels finally getting low. Somewhere I’m up past dawn, ‘til. Somewhere you’ll live here, still somewhere you’ve already gone. Somewhere a radio is playing in a living room, says the city lacks the funds to fix the bridge. Somewhere the deer overruns so they’re introducing wolves back on the ridge.

And from here in the kitchen I can hear the neighbours in the ally hanging linens, and the men collecting trash bins in the street. You’re speaking to me, but I can’t understand you. The coffee is burning and all the times that we spent. That road trip out West through desert for the rest stops, the kitsch we both collect. That winter the whole weekend we’d huddle by the stove, the cabin I had rented, the unexpected snow. That visit for Christmas. On television binges. We’ll see friends in Brooklyn, drive South to Richmond. There’s traffic on the bridge, a woman on the ledge. And everywhere, the wind. Everything is happening at once.

- Stay Happy There, La Dispute



Drink slow, to feed the nose
You know he likes to get blown
Has he got enough money to spend?

It’s going off ‘cause they’re not gonna let him in.
2 and a half, the boy’s rushing out his skin
He’s got his charm with the girls that are smoking
Takes her arm, jumps the bar, now he’s in

He doesn’t like it when the girls go
Has he got enough money to spend?

A broken half a glass has opened up his chin
He thinks he’s hard, a powdered mouth that tastes of gin
He’s just been barred for the blues he was smoking
And then he barks “It’s my car I’m sleeping in”

Tabs with unlimited 0’s, new clothes, bloody nose
Powders and walking back home
Has he got enough weed? No.
Broken phone, retching on the floor alone.

"I’m searching you mate, your jaw’s all over the place".
Can’t talk. Quick slap in the face.



Show me all your bruises. I know everybody wears them. They broadcast your pain. How you hurt. How you reacted. Did your father have a heart attack? Have you had a moment forced the whole heart to grow, or retract. Or just shrink. Does the heart shrink?

Tell me everything. Tell me everything you know. Were you told as a child how cruel the whole world can be. Did anybody ever tell you that? Tell me how your story goes. Have you ever suffered? If so, did you get better or have you never quite recovered? Did you find your lover laying in your bedroom with another and then did you let it hover over you and everything else well after the fact?

Tell me what your worst fears are. I bet they look a lot like mine. Tell me what you think about when you can’t fall asleep at night. Tell me that you’re struggling. Tell me that you’re scared. No, tell me that you’re terrified of life. Tell me that you it’s difficult not to think of death sometimes.

Tell me how you lost. Tell me how he left. Tell me how she left. Tell me how you lost everything you had. Tell me it ain’t ever coming back. Say you think of everything in fear.

Do you think if the heart keeps on shrinking one day there’ll be no heart at all?



stateless1972:

“I wonder if you know yet that you’ll leave me. That you
are a child playing with matches and I have a paper body.
You will meet a girl with a softer voice and stronger arms and she
will not have violent secrets or an affection for red wine or eyes
that never stay dry. You will fall into her bed and I’ll go back
to spending Friday nights with boys who never learn my last name.

I have chased off every fool who has tried to sleep beside me
You think it’s romantic to fuck the girl who writes poems about you.
You think I’ll understand your sadness because I live inside my own.
But I will show up at your door at 2 am, wild-eyed and sleepless.
and try and find some semblance of peace in your breastbone
and you will not let me in. You will tell me to go home.”
Clementine von Radics



Dear everyone I ever knew, I acted like an asshole so I could keep my edge on you
I sit home and drink alone and hope the bottle speaks like you, like us. like me

(February stationary from You on the wall)



Did we get to the twist in the third act yet?



i’m sorry, followers.

my dad got diagnosed with cancer and then my fiancé left me. and then i ran away to florida to watch the sunsets. and i just couldn’t write anymore. i couldn’t write about it.

and now i’m back and i’ve moved to manchester and i’m studying for a degree and i’m running away to florida again at christmas. but my thoughts from the last 10 months are all written down in these weird little stumbling faltering tumblr drafts, 128 of them, and on notes in my phone, and i don’t know whether i want the world to know what i’m feeling anymore. or what i felt.

but i’m getting there. i’m almost happy. and when i’m done and finished getting happy i think i can write.



 me & mtn dew go way back when. (by Felicity JC.)