"One day in the subway, James saw a red cat with a wound to the leg that likely resulted from a fight with another cat. It was obvious that the cat needed help. James could not pass and took the cat to the vet. With a little medical treatment and prescription drugs, the cat quickly recovered. At that point, James found it impossible to say goodbye to Street Cat Bob. Bob followed James everywhere he went. As James played the guitar on the street and Bob sat nearby, revenues increased dramatically. People found it difficult to pass when they looked at the cute kitty. James went on to write a book describing their adventures in the street which was full of life – both dramatic and comedic. In the book, James says that he could not have imagined how meeting Bob would change his life. His friendship with the cat healed him from a life that had been very hard. Most likely, if Bob could speak, he would say the same thing.”


(via nakedustbunnies)

2:22 pm

I’m going to write you all day. I know mail doesn’t get sent up to heaven but it doesn’t matter because I don’t believe that place exists anyway.

I cemented up that hole from earlier with my anger. I’m angry. I’m really fuckin pissed off. Angry that after so long, this can still hurt so much. Angry at myself for feeling so weak. I’m angry for feeling like I need someone right now but my pride won’t let me admit that out loud.

I’m angry that you’re gone. You missed my graduation. Three. Three graduations. I’ve done my thing since you’ve been gone and you have no clue. I wish I could imagine you up there, dancing on clouds with Michael Jackson, Al Green and sad ass Mehelia Jackson but we all know I can’t believe in an afterlife. Maybe that’s what makes me angriest of all.

10 Years

Today makes 10 years, dude.

It was 2004 when it happened.

I was fucking TWELVE when it happened.

And now it’s 2014 and I’m 22 and I’m still not over it.

I woke up from my nightmare, shaking and mentally cursing myself out. It’s 8:30 am and I never wake up this early anymore. There’s a hole in my chest and it doesn’t feel like my heart is there, beating. I wish it wasn’t. I wish it was as still as yours because no pain will ever be greater than this, even after all these years.

Tell your god I lost faith in him when he decided to take you from me. Tell him about how fucking UNPREPARED I was. Remind him that I prayed to him harder that day than any other in my life and yet he would have me watch you convulse and fight for your next breath.

Tell your God that it should have been me and my way of repaying him in spite will be to take away his choice of when I go. Fuck him and fuck today.


Me changing my vocabulary from nigga to sophisticated nigga when fine grad students walking by

God, he’s cute.

(Source: buttliker, via brisierra)


I talked myself down from a very high ledge. I stood teetering between fighting and letting go. I wouldn’t bring blade to skin unless I was ready to DO it.

I wasn’t.

So I didn’t.

Everything is annoying me.

I’m annoyed.

Bowl Ghosting 👻

Bowl Ghosting 👻


There are chills running through my body.
I’m cold.
But between my legs,
I’m hot.
and wet
and ready.
I close my eyes and see your face.
Close them and hear those lurking entities,
they’re slithering over each other.
Who strikes first,
who bites first?
You’re in my head but not my heart
and I need to feel something.
I want blade to epidermus,
I want to be bad.
I want you to watch me,
fight the urge to reach out and stop me.
I want to push in, feel that initial prick.
I want to drag the corner down,
I want to inhale on a hiss,
watch you bite your lip,
chest moving up and down rapidly.
I want the uncertainty,
the fear,
the helplessness
all over your face
as I cut into myself over
and over.
I want to bleed in front of you,
I want you to decide you don’t hate me,
that you’re not afraid of me.
I want you to be afraid of how hard your dick got,
watching me cut ribbons into my skin.
Be horrifed as I pull you closer to me,
unbuckle your belt,
unzip your zipper.
Feel your internal fight as I take your hard cock into my mouth,
I’m bleeding and I’m bobbing on your dick.
Do you want me to stop?
Can you look down into my wet eyes
and push me off you?
Even when I’m making you feel this good,
my tongue ring sliding over the vein in your dick?
When I’m popping off the head,
sucking sounds wet,
or even when I vacuum suck you back into my mouth?
Can you promise not to pick me up off my spot on the edge of the tub
sit me on the sink
and pull my panties off?
Can you promise not to shove yourself inside me raw,
raw tears on your eyes,
my name in your lips?
Will you not let me grab your neck with my damaged hand,
blood brightening your tee shirt?
Promise not to look at that in the reflection
and be in such awe
that you don’t ram yourself into me harder?
You’ll be so glad that I’m still here
that you’ll grip my ass cheeks
and pull me on and off your dick until I’m crying
and shaking
and cumming.
Can you?
Be that person?
My person?


This is my favorite scene of Bob’s Burgers ever.

This is fucking perf.

(Source: spattergroit101, via viva-labelle)

No. Just no.

I woke up feeling like absolute caca today. My sinuses are acting up and I have one of my infamous headaches. I’m in bed and all I want is to go back to sleep but if I do, I won’t sleep tonight and I kinda HAVE to get up early tomorrow. Maybe I’ll go back to buying and taking Zzzquil. I’ve taken a long enough break to be over the tolerance I’ve built up. I’ll go get some later. Which means I can def go back to sleep so… bye.

1:20 am

The beginning of what will become full blown cramps are awakening in my belly. I sit in the tight corner where my bed meets the wall, propped up on pillows, neck uncomfortably unsupported while I type these words. I’m thinking of you and how strange a thing it is to feel as though I have known you for a better part of my life. There is no manual on life and love, just a shitload of attempts at them. But I am drawn to you, captivated by the hurt that my own recognizes. I am alone and I don’t want to be. I want you here or me there and it’s weird because I don’t get caught up in feelings like this. When the attraction is not fully sexual, rather intellectual, that means all hell is going to break lose.Men claim that women get caught up over good dick, I get caught up in good conversation, My love doesn’t stem from my sex drive, I can have lots of sex, with lots of people and that;s never going to be the thing that makes me fall in love again,.. considering love is even in the stars for me again. Those conversations, those writing pieces, those comfortable silences that come after the prior two… those are going to be the things that’ll do it for me, You don’t scare me. Not in terms of being afraid to get hurt. I am afraid to hurt you. I’m afraid I will use you for your love, time, thoughts, energy, silences, arms, sex, money. I’m afraid that you’ll use me for the same things and all we end up accomplishing is ruining ourselves more.

But you wanna know something?

I don’t even care.