I miss the comfortable silences and naked minds; the smell of sullen smoked cigarettes on stair steps and your blue stares from brown eyes. I miss the tired nights turned tangled mornings and the way you spoke my name like the answer to a question - soft and sanguine, inside-out. Our words fell face-first, unrehearsed from mouths kept honest, where crooked teeth felt at home. Alone, my days still end, but I still feel your fingers on my skin.

I will never understand why anybody would ever take a picture of a dead animal on the sidewalk/road and post it online thinking its funny or cool.

The fuck is wrong with you

I don’t remember the last time I’ve slept for longer than two hours at night.

Also I have heartburn and it sucks.