i'll show you

[havelogicwilltravel-blog]

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[marcusxambrose]

“And I don't need you right now. What's a few more years? I'll do fine on my own somehow. Don't worry about me. And I can't find the words I need that tell me how I feel. Convincing my heart that it's not my fault and praying none of this is real. I'd like to wake up and be gone, like a real bad memory.”

[marcusxambrose]

                                                        [ PARALYZED ]

Setting: Marcus’ apartment mostly. Who: Marcus, minor appearance of a NPC female. Triggers: PTSD, Violence, Survivors guilt, Death mentions.

                                                        I'm paralyzed

The images were vivid as they played out, unfolding the same unfortunate way they always do. Face after face, move after move.... mistake after mistake. A play by play of that night, of the night they lost men and women but not him. The real nightmare was the truth it held. It wasn’t a dream. It was memories coming out to play, to never let him forget all the mistakes he had made. It was the sound of his best friend’s scream of agony that wakes him. Every night, that’s where he can’t face it any longer. 

                                             Where are my feelings?

Marcus has had that nightmare every night since it happened, truth be told he thought maybe coming back to his home town would somehow make it stop, but unfortunately it didn’t. Upon his waking, he felt someone stir next to him. The blonde looked upon the brunettes face, his recollection of the night was blurry but he could definitely say for sure he doesn’t remember her name. Sighing, Marcus removed the girl’s arm and got up, moving to get ready for a jog. By the time he was headed out, he saw that the unnamed woman was still there, awake now but still that. Running a hand through his hair, not really wanting to deal with this. “Hey, be gone by the time I get back.” The only way to describe his voice is emotionless, and that was true. The blonde did not care, not even bothering to stick around to see the usual bitchy reaction to those words. 

                                               I no longer feel things

After the run, walking back into his apartment his eyes landed on a bag on the floor, and the smell of eggs in the air. Taking a few steps in, looking in the direction of the kitchen where the sight of the nameless girl eating came into view. This made Marcus clench his jaw as he made his way over to her. “What the fuck is this? I said be gone by the time I got back, not eat my damn food.” Why was he getting so fueled by this? Before, he would have taken this and aimed for a second go, then tell her to leave. This time... he just felt anger. The look on the woman’s face was easily defined as fear as she rose quickly, hands in front of her as if to surrender or defend herself by pushing him away just in case. 

                                                     I know I should

“I-- sorry, I’ll just... I’m going!” She frantically got out backing her way to her things, picking them up with haste. 

                                                      I'm paralyzed

Marcus’ stride twice hers as they finally came to a stop at the door. “Get out.” The demand was hauntingly growled and she obeyed. As soon as she was in the hall he slammed the door shut, his hands curling into fist. This was so frustrating. He hated feeling this way, and even that was frustrating because he didn’t feel anythings, besides when he was filled with rage. When he wasn’t, he just felt numb and he didn’t know why or how to fix it but he knows he deserves it. 

                                             Where is the real me?

Picking up the closest thing and throwing it, hearing the sound of it hitting the floor and the fact that there was a shatter included didn’t even effect him. Who cares? Let it be the tv, let it be a lamp, let it be anything, Marcus didn’t need it. The blonde racked his fingers through his hair as he backed into the door, sliding down and covering his face with his forearms.

                                     I'm lost and it kills me - inside

“I’m sorry...fuck, I’m so sorry.” Taking deep breathes, making his chest rise and fall, he felt the rage slowly slip back into the numbness. Marcus apologized. He keeps finding himself in this situation, apologizing. Not really knowing to who, or for what. Maybe it’s for all the dick things he’s done to people, possibly to the dead marines he was supposed to protect, could be to himself, but the last one was not the most likely. Even though he didn’t know why, he does it. In the silence, he was suffocating but surviving. Always surviving, and that was the problem.  

                                                     I'm paralyzed

[just-six]

There’s nothing poetic about being empty.

six word story // 3misguidedghosts (via longbottmwrites)

[tessalivesandbreathesbooks]

He did not know which was more painful, the waking or the sleeping. When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and broken promises. When he woke, there was nothing to do but think, and his waking thoughts were worse than nightmares.

A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin (via tessalivesandbreathesbooks)

[zacksnyderedmoved]

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[bknrecord-blog]

welcome to the crying game where you lose your soul where there ain’t no easy path you gotta use the toll ain’t no cruise control you about to lose control

[zacksnyderedmoved]

It’s just so much more fun to play bad than good. Plus it’s just good to get that out of your system so it doesn’t show up in your personal life.

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[marcusxambrose]

wibbly-wobbly-timeywimeystuff:

You need peace of mind? Here’s a piece of mine

All I need’s a line, but sometimes I don’t always find the words to rhyme

To express how I’m really feeling at that time, yes

Sometimes, Sometimes, Sometimes

It’s just sometimes is always me

How dark can these hallways be

[survivalbred-deactivated2022091]

[gringosatemybaby]

[conarkin]

[marcusxambrose]

conarkin:

KENNEDY + AMBROSE

“There’s always a few questions floating like ‘do you ever fish here with your other son? You know, the one that called yesterday, the day before, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and father’s day?’[…] Your brother isn’t calling to say hi, he probably wants money. I let the phone ring. Hear his voice tangled in the answering machine, I want to unravel him. […] Swam to grandma’s funeral though. As the casket dipped we tried to real her spirit back and behind everyone my brother stood still camouflaged among the tombstones. You know the ones people stop visiting after a while. […] The only proof of my brother is stuffed in the back of a photoalbum like the lore in the tackle box you no longer use anymore.”

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