trapical:

to be honest i find it hard to believe that theres someone out there that would be able to spend the rest of their life with me

(via loleww)

pizza:

when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that i can’t wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that’s better and involves me

(Source: pizza, via cowboyish)

i lay in bed for an hour listening
to joyce manor and reading
bukowski. i tried not to be sad.
it didn’t work.
i thought about how
none of those writers made it 
through,
at least not alive and sober.
i thought about how
i wasn’t sure i could make it
through,
not alive or sober,
but i want(ed) to,
more than i have ever wanted
anything
(even a barbie jeep in second 
grade. my best friend’s name was
christopher and i want(ed)
him too,
sometimes. we would ride away
together. somewhere far and magical
and happy)
i lay there and
i kept breathing and
i kept reading and
i kept thinking.
life moved on.
i’m sure someone somewhere
died.
that lucky bastard.
“for me, humanity had failed worse than i had”
i highlighted that in the bukowski book
maybe three months ago.
i don’t know why
i don’t know how anyone or anything 
even a collective species
can have failed worse than i have.
but if someone wrote it,
it has to be possible,
doesn’t it?
i’m still alive and i am 
struggling to stay still alive and
that’s something.
things could be much worse.
on the other hand,
things could be much better.
i never got that barbie jeep or
christopher. or anybody ever,
really.
also,
i am a little tired of needing medicine
to feel OK. 
maybe God will show up 
on my doorstep tomorrow
and cure me.
let’s cross our fingers but
don’t get your hopes
up