Hipsters (And Why I Hate Them) You’d think every one of them was a Michelangelo by the way they grinned. I want to climb inside their bodies and drive a steak knife through the bridge of their eyeglasses
my first night back we were far apart once but you can hear my heart now in this chest, and your hair used to itch my skin if you didn’t tuck it back but you’ll never hear about it again
24/7 The cops are at the door right now looking for me. Tune in, tune in, tune in. If you don’t want me to jump, let me know. I like to drink and laugh, and I like to get laid like everybody else. Could I please get some viewers?
This past summer was like all other suburban summers: short and hot. Short enough so that it came and went and, having not overstayed its welcome, would be welcomed again. Hot enough that little kids cracked eggs on their asphalt driveways, scrambled for a round of hide and go seek, and before the tiny seeker could finish counting to ten and move her hands from her eyes, the yolks were very well done. On both sides.
I'm pacing the floors going back an forth, wearing out the soles of my Doc Martens. The anticipation is killing me! "Where the fuck is she?" I ask. Waiting is the hardest part. I get myself all worked up over pleasure that turns into pain, that turns into longing. Here I am, peeking out the window every few minutes. Sometimes these fuckers play games, when I've already sold my Xbox 360.
Apple Cid er His drunk fucking breath poured ove' my mouth. I wished he would pour some whiskey in it. It was like romance could play every tune on my body. All the importance and his love had run into the darkest corner of my heart