Chaotic Neutral :3 @greggergandggre - Tumblr Blog

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I fucking love cats. What do you mean I have a little creature curled up in a ball smacking my butt with his tail? What do you mean when I get home from work I’ve got a little guy who’ll meow at me until I cuddle him. This is so fire. I love my cat. I will write a book about this if I so please.

Sure, you may love her. But you love her like a child loves a toy—a possessive love. A love that says, ‘If you break, I will discard you.’ You’ll always be on the prowl for a newer, more fun toy. But I’d kill myself to be the fertilizer in her garden. I’d let the worms eat my already sagging flesh, so she’d have the prettiest flowers come next spring. I’d let my blood water her hydrangeas, and my tears her roses. You may love her, but you’d leave sooner than that garden blooms.

#poetry #original poem #short poem #love poem #obsessive love #artwork

TW: idek how to describe it, obsessive love? Something close to body horror at some point

That bewildering gaze established her place in my heart, somehow so many words were spoken without a single movement from either of our lips. While I looked at her gorgeous face and all its complexities she stared deep into me, understanding, seeing all my hopes, passions and dreams; she had a way of doing the impossible. I’m not quite sure how somebody can be such a vessel for beauty, and sure some people may say otherwise, but to me she’s everything I’ve ever wanted, hoped for, needed even. The way her voice pushed through the air in a harmonious dance, the way her shoulders rose and fell when she laughed, the smiles she’d make when I looked at her, simply every little detail, every imperfection was truly perfect when they were hers. The small glances, the gulps of air when she laughed too hard, the snorts, the way she carried herself so effortlessly, and only god knows how many things simply left me awe struck about her. I’ve never seen somebody in such a bright light, she could cut my heels and kick me when I kneeled, and I’d still stare at her with my tear-soaked eyes and trace the shape of her lips. Every bad moment, every good moment, all of them I spent falling ever deeper for her, and all I can say, is that it’s a very steep fall from a jagged cliff, every time I hit where I should stop, I just somehow keep on falling. I could use every last breath in my lungs to string together words of how perfect I find her, and even still I’d run out of air before I reached anywhere near the halfway mark.

Here’s another one about what I’d say is something like love dumping or whatever

TW: lots on neglect/abuse in relationships.

Strip me to my core, take it all, use it all; leave me to be the nothing you see. Give me that facade you keep oh so well, pretend you love me so you can take what you want with no fight. Pretend you love me so you can break me, so you can leave me begging for just a drop more of that sweet toxin you called love. I’ll sit in the agony that follows you around, I’ll dance under the pale moonlight of your hate, so when the morning comes you can pretend again. You do it all wrong but I’ll always pretend you make me feel right, you go left on accident and I’ll flip the world, you mix up your words and I’ll rewrite the dictionary. I’ll do it all, just so I can finally feel full off of your ‘love’ that burns me through my entire soul.

⚠️ TW for my silly goose’s: SH and suicidal ideation, as well as substance abuse ⚠️

This is a little thingy I wrote one time about heartbreak. NOT A PERSONAL STORY EXACTLY: I am okay!!!

In the misty mornings of March I see the taillights of your car as you leave my life. The water in the air makes the light all smothered, or maybe it’s just the tears welling in my bloodshot eyes. You brought my clothes back from your room where we first kissed and they smell like you. I throw them in the washer and forget to start it, distracted by l’apell du vide. I sit on my creaky bed where I used to hold you in my shaky hands, the bed where I first learned what your love tasted like, where your hands first felt my skin. Like a moth to a flame, I look at all the pictures of you on my walls, my dresser, my nightstand, I look at all the art we made together, and I break down again, that’s the third, maybe fourth time today. In the humid days of June, I still miss you, but usually it’s less. I haven’t loved ever since then. I sit down in the shower and let the hot water pelt my body, I feel my thoughts start to race so I turn up the music. Mouthing the words I keep myself preoccupied from thinking of you. On a particularly rainy day in September I remember when we held hands and spun and danced when it was raining. I didn’t wanna get wet but you insisted and now that’s one of my most cherished memories, weird how that works isn’t it? Weird how much I didn’t want to go outside, but when I saw the joy on your face I couldn’t have been happier to share that moment with you. In a frost laden winter, when I don’t know the date, I drown my sorrows in alcohol, I do whatever I can to make the memories wash away. On February twelfth, I slit my wrist for the first time, and as I watch the blood trickle from the cut, I think of that misty day in March, it’s almost been a year. A year, 365 days, 12 full months. I use the razor to try and cut away all the strings that attach me to you. If I could’ve stopped I would’ve, but these days I don’t really have control. On a misty day in March my body finally gave in, I got rushed to an ER, and when I made a ‘miraculous’ recovery I was put in a psych ward, doesn’t feel very miraculous. Next March I’ll forget about you, I’ll engorge myself in somebody else’s love. Next March I won’t be so lost, next March the mist will clear.

Republicans say fetuses are living children, which is peculiar, because the fetuses haven’t learned how to huddle in a corner due to the fact that the same republicans control the system that allows maniacs guns

#politics #democrats #liberals #leftist #leftism #imjusttypingallthesetagstoshowmypoliticalallignment #boob

My red string of fate ties back to a moving bus

Girl are you rigor mortis? Cause you make me stiff

Do not smell the tube

Gen Z is soft but boomers can’t handle us asking their pronouns. Any time you do suddenly you’re attacking liberty, destroying English and converting children into satanic rituals.

Baby girl this, baby boy that; where are my babenby monarchs?

#enby #i am the funniest person alive #sandwic #dijon mustard