definitely last night
all day, every day.
seriously though, Norway probably has the most metal fucking musical pirate ever
captain sabertooth, motherfucker
every times this comes around I laugh harder than the time before
(Source: badtvblog, via liamdryden)
“Games with female protagonists don’t sell well”
What? What`s nicer than staring at a nice ass while you play?
I have only met you three times.
The first, I complimented you on your
band name after hearing you mention it
while we, two strangers, browsed records.
The second time, I silently ate pizza and
listened to you excitedly discuss your
upcoming tour with the others squished beside me
in the wooden booth.
The third, I was laughing the entire time
to forget about the ache of my sore arms.
So, I have seen your faces fewer times
than I’ve been in love
and yet, you have been in my dreams
the same amount of instances I have had my
I suppose it’s not normal to sleep with a boy
before he’s ever touched you, but I can’t help it-
until you are mine to wake up to,
I will close my eyes and
find you in the only place you know my name.
A group of friends met me at the airport last night,
the scene of my arrival twenty minutes of giggling through
When our faces had dried,
I noticed you in the background,
shuffling your feet and making eyes at me,
as though you wanted me to know that you’re sorry
When the screaming of my alarm
(as shrill as when you shouted at me to leave)
jolted me awake, I realized that I
I cannot shake your sad eyes,
even when I close mine.
Before we kissed,
you told me about a reoccurring nightmare you had,
in which you were picked from the crowd at a
soccer game to kick the ball.
With the crowd watching,
you nervously made your way to the field,
but once there, found yourself too afraid to move.
It wasn’t until we were lying beside each other
months later that you told me the dream stopped
plaguing you when you finally
worked up the courage to
I keep seeing the people I’ve loved
when I fall asleep, but have never
looked at my own face in a dream.
Do you have an idea as to what that means?
When I could bury myself in your
naked body all night
I had no need for dreams
to keep me warm.
I’m sorry I don’t call. Sorry I snuck down the stairs and out to the mouth of a boy who will never know my name. I’m sorry I ruined your carpet with a backdraft of whiskey. I’m sorry I told our secrets. Sorry I put them in a book. Sorry I didn’t tell you about it. I’m sorry for the freckles and the switches and the mean boys in grade school. I’m sorry I scratched your Neil Diamond record. Sorry I drew the picture of the dead cat. Titled it after my dead sister. I’m sorry they pulled her from your body like a sad wet sponge. I’m sorry no one came to the hospital. Sorry I felt sorry. I’m sorry about the stolen tampons and the nest of mice in the stove. The pennies for gas money. Sorry I drank all your rum. Sorry about the boy in the basement. And the one on the porch. And the back of your car. I’m sorry about the slashed window screens. And forearms. I’m sorry I lied about acid and the boy with the knife. The houseful of beer rats. Sorry for the weevils and the dead grass. I’m sorry I don’t call anymore. I’m sorry your life looks like this in photo albums. Sorry I was part of your stain. I’m sorry it took 36 years to say this. You hate me. You are too kind to say so. Sorry I told our stories. Sorry I am so small. Sorry I haven’t thanked you for sacrifice. For stereo and dolls and English and correcting my stutter and the big slumber party with all the gift bags. Sorry I vomited in the wash drain. Sorry I left. Sorry I came back. I’m sorry you still get so angry. Sorry I struck back. Sorry I loved you so hard—then turned like a coin that has run out of spin. I’m sorry the rock opened that boy’s forehead. Sorry I cursed you. Sorry I wouldn’t let you hit me anymore. I’m sorry I lied. Sorry I couldn’t tell you. Sorry I am a coward. My skin has started to yellow. My neck is curving into an ampersand. I’m sorry we can’t talk about it. I sorry we can’t talk. Sorry the world kicked you so hard. I’m sorry he’s sick, mama. Sorry all I can do is worry what happens next. Sorry I wrote the poems. Sorry I stopped calling. Sorry I don’t visit. Sorry you never wanted me. I can’t be fixed. We can’t laugh. I’m sorry I don’t need you like other girls. There’s so much decay in these bones. There are no grandchildren. Sorry I failed. Sorry I am alone. I’m sorry alone is easier than talking to you. I’m sorry it comes like this. Flood and undertow. Sorry I can’t sit comfortably in the same room. That I twitch like a startled moth. Sorry I came out hard and sharp and full of claws. Ruined your body. Only learned the wrong things. I’m sorry you’re so far. Sorry I have no intention of coming to find you.
I’m sorry I don’t call. — Jeanann Verle, Genetics of Regret (via conor-broberst)