you are a tidal wave and she is constantly out of reach.

A story about death.

"Sometimes happiness feels like a chore." A short story chronicling the relationships (and lack thereof) of Drew; in which nights and days are spent curled up in the tear-and-food-stained sheets, with and without the warmth of another living soul, because he has lived like this and he'll probably die like this -- whether he likes it or not. (As if life ever bothered to ask). Otherwise known as: Sleep is for the weak, and love is for those asleep. So Andrew shouldn't wonder why he's virtually a self-induced insomniac who might just very well die of loneliness one day.

I am a monster. Everybody knows it, but they're too afraid to say it out loud. My body's made of static and dead skin cells, and I don't know if knowing that i'm a failure is what makes me sad or if it's the fact that everyone else knows i'm a failure, too.

in which i write to a different ghost in the alphabet.// © incompetent_

Let me be vital. / I want to burn myself out. #39 Poetry - 11/6/16.

anecdotes and shenanigans and punctuation.

thursday

poems and flowers

If Harper had to be honest, being a 'just-a-friend' kind of really sucked. » © armors 2014