Vague hearts are all around

[vagueheartswriting]

No Diner for Young Men (Micro-Fiction)

“Hey there, sweetie! Take a seat wherever.”

“Thanks.”

           It was cold and Mark was tired of waiting in the mechanic’s heater-less waiting room. The diner next door looked unremarkable enough. Colorado winters are defined by fluctuating temperatures that seamlessly shift between sunny and comfortable to gray and unacceptably cold. It eventually takes a toll on everyone’s emotional stability; people had many ways of fighting off this destabilization- Mark ate.

           There was a diner like this in Mark’s hometown. This place didn’t have a lot in common with that place besides the faceless old men at the counter and the sweet young waitress whose mother probably worked here before she had kids. The prices back home were cheaper than here, but biscuits and gravy are biscuits and gravy.

           “Can I sit at the bar?”

           “Of course! Can I get you a coffee?”

“Please.”

           Mark took a seat two down from an old man angrily trying to eat a pulled pork sandwich. There was a stack of newspapers on the bar, but the only sports pages and “business insider” were left, so Mark stared at the ceiling instead.

           “Here ya go!”

           “Thanks.”

           Mark ordered a full-serving of biscuits and looked around for hot-sauce. Briefly, him and the man with the pork sandwich silently met eyes before the old man returned to wrestle his food.

           “We’re all outta gravy, hun. It’ll take about fifteen minutes, Ok?”

           “Yeah. Got all the time in the world.” Said Mark, reaching for the sports pages.

[vagueheartswriting]

Tumble-Dry

           “Ow…dammit, dude! Every time!”

           “What? What happened?”

           “I, damn… I was reaching into my pocket for some quarters and stabbed myself.”

           “Pffft, on what?!”

           “Like a toothpick or something in the pocket.”

           “Are you bleeding?”

           “Nah, I’ll be fine. C’mon, sooner we start this shit the sooner we can leave.”

           “Oh, come on man. Why do you wanna leave so bad? This place is awesome!! We got Galaga. We got vending machines. There’s a weird musty stench. That lady over there is scowling at us. It’s just like your mom’s basement here!”            “…And you wonder why I don’t wanna stick around?”

           “Don’t be such a dick, I love your mother. Besides, I like the laundry-mat. It’s one of those places where… I don’t know. It’s like…it’s like a freeze frame of humanity at its most naked.”

           “...”

           “...what?”

           “What the hell are you going on about?”

           “Remember that scene from Dogma? Where Affleck and Damon are at the airport and Affleck goes on this whole spiel about how the airport is full of reunions and separations? That in that exact moment nothing else matters- all the baggage that everyone has with one another doesn’t matter because they could never see each other again. Or! It had been so long since they’d seen each other that they’re focused on only that moment. Nothing else matters.”

           “You’re boring me, and I’m fucking hungry.”

           “Well, the laundry-mat is like the exact opposite. Life pauses here because it has no other option. Everyone has to stop and wait for their shit to clean. So, all you have to do to while the time passes is sit your ass down and think. You’re forced to exist in your… well, your dirty laundry. And given that, barring the occasional dryer malfunction, nothing exciting ever happens at these places, people don’t feel any kind of pressure to be or do anything that doesn’t come naturally.”

           “You’re a weird dude, you know that?”

           “…Not as weird as that dude. Check out the Columbine wannabe. He’s got the trenchcoat and everything.”

           “I don’t see him. Where?”

           “Right there, dumbass! Across the parking lot. He’s just standing there- staring.”

           “Hmmm, he’s prolly just some bum. Laundry-mat’s a good bet for people to have spare change. Speaking of! Let me get a quarter. I got aliens to kill.”

           “I don’t know man… bums don’t usually look as clean as this dude. Sure he looks scruffy, but so do we.”

           “I’m. not. Listening. To you. Ramble on. About. The homeless- AW COME ON! I totally shot you!“

                “QUIET DOWN!!”

           “Ooooooh, you got yelled at by the gross lady behind the counter.”

           “Fuck her. You said yourself, man. This is where true humanity can be seen. Well, this is who I am! Besides… oh, fuck you, you alien piss bag...she should be more concerned about that lady who’s straight up drinking a 40 while her kid crawls around on the floor. …I guess you were right. This is like my mom’s house.”

           “GET DOWN!”

           “What the fuck, man? The hell did you tackle me for?”

           “Shut up!”

           “What? What is going on”

           “…Are you fucking dense? Look at the counter.”

           “Oh... it’s the bum. He’s uh…He’s holding a shotgun.”

           “Yes. He is currently robbing this fine establishment. You know, the fine establishment that we are currently inhabiting! Just be quiet, keep your head down!”

           “…”

           “…”

           “… is he gone?”

           “I think so.”

           “You fuckin’ pussies can go back to your game now!”

               “…”

“…Th…thank you, ma’am!”

           “…Are you ok, miss?”

           “I’ll be better once you assholes leave!”

               “Well then! Top Ten Things I didn’t expect to happen to me today!”

           “Like I said, man. You see all parts of humanity here.”

           “…You are fucking relentless with this pseudo-post-modern-philosophizing. You know that?”

[vagueheartswriting]

She Didn’t Ask for It and Neither Did I

Keep reading

[vagueheartswriting]

What Are You So Scared Of?

It feels like I’m getting stabbed in the lungs. Yeah, definitely like getting stabbed in the lungs with blood filling up my stomach. God, I fucking hate cardio. Looking over my shoulder I see six or seven of ‘em- all big and burly and they’re coming in fast. I barely know them, but we share a mutual hatred. It’s natural, really. I’m prey and they’re predators. Luckily, I got a bigger brain than them. If only I could use it for anything other than antagonizing them.

I shouldn’t complain; they motivate me. I love the euphoria of exercise but can never seem to get up and make myself do it. They help with that. They have these helpful, motivational quotes like, “Run if you can you fucking faggot! We’ll find you!”

He’s pissed. I can’t really blame him- I’d be mad too if someone took a fucking razor blade to the new car Daddy bought me.

Why’d I do it? Why not?

Because that’s the natural order of things.

I haul ass through the weeds and hollowed out trees. The trees steadily control less and less of the terrain-giving room for more and more awful dead grass. There used to be a pond here. Frogs and lizards could be found in children’s fists while showing them off to their little friends- squeezing the life out of them. Simpler times, really.

Just keep running.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!!”

Past the non-pond are just fields. Fields that seem to meld seamlessly with the horizon- I don’t even know if I’m on public property anymore. I jumped a dilapidated fence a while back, but there are no buildings in sight. Just grass-brown, withered, and never ending.

Just keep running.  

Probably shouldn’t have done what I did. Probably shouldn’t do most things I do. Being bored and getting high often ends in poor decision making. My dad always lectures me on it.

Every choice you make has consequences, and know this, you’re making choices that are going to affect you for the rest of your life. . He’s probably right.

Like the trees, the assholes are getting further behind me. The ground beneath me shakes a little less and my ears can now hear things other than their threats. But I know they’re still coming.

Just keep running.

And I do. I keep running.  I run so much I can feel my feet catch fire and the skin on my toes peel away- slowly fusing with my socks.

Just keep running.

Just ke-

FUCK!!! …Didn’t see that rock there. Everything slows down and I watch the horizon glide above my head. My eyes are closed and my breath is held.

Situational awareness! Dad always says. If you don’t know what’s going on around you, how can you react effectively?

My face becomes immediately acquainted with the dirt and pebbles beneath me. It sounds like a train car colliding with a couple hundred pounds of TNT. It hurts, to say the least. Did I just fall into a pressure cooker? Everything’s both amplified and muffled; I think I cracked my skull open.

Chka-chka-chka-chka

Shit. My head slowly rises and my eyes see two of everything. The blades of grass are two-stepping, the clouds swirl in tiny circles. Heh, look at the birds. Something’s in front of me. I can barely make it out at first. The pain is less intense now, but there’s something else in its place. Paralysis, maybe petrification, but instead of inhibiting my body- it’s attacking my soul. I can only lie here, trying to figure out exactly what it is I see. The first thing I see is the reflection of the sun in its marble eye. Then, I see its tongue- its nostrils and its tail.

Chka-chka-chka-chka

Well hello there.

What the fuck?  

Isn’t this quite the surprise?

It moves like one of those illusion things. You know those posters or whatever that look one way depending on your perspective then another if you change your angle? It’s surreal. It unwraps itself and creeps toward me. The ground is shaking again

What’s your name, young man?

Its mouth doesn’t move- it just keeps sticking its tongue out at me and flaring its nostrils. I can’t answer. I try, but my jaw feels  wired shut. All I can do is stare. And it stares directly back.

You know, it’s rude to ignore a direct question.

It keeps moving toward me. The thing seems to be a mile long- just uncoiling and uncoiling and uncoiling.  Fuck cardio- I’m exhausted. Come on- come on- just...stand up. I slowly push myself off the ground- keeping my eyes steadied on it. I can see it now in its entirety. It stops unravelling and puts its head on the ground- somehow the eyes still seem fixed on me.

You’re scared. There’s no need for that. Your slack-jawed enemies have given up their pursuit and I mean you no harm.

Pull it together, man! I’m in the field with the dried up pond. I was running from a bunch of sociopaths and I fell and hit my head. I’m hallucinating. That’s it. That’s all this is, a head injury. I double check to be sure. That…thing is gone. Whatever it was. There’s nothing here but me and my screaming skull. I’m leaving. If I can cut through the back way, I can get home and lie down. I just need to lie down.

HOW DARE YOU?!

That…was fucking terrifying. I’ve never been so scared my whole life. That was like a red hot knife cutting my soul. The most piecing feeling I’ve ever felt.

Is this how you treat all those who try to help you?!

It’s directly in front of me now. But this isn’t real. This is fake. There’s nothing here. It’s just me.

Just start running.

Tsk-tsk-tsk. What a shame. You seem to have the capacity to do great things. But, I suppose you’re tired of hearing that old diatribe, aren’t you?

That voice. Its voice is parental and sincere but- seductive and enticing. I see it a little clearer now. Fully spread out, it’s about six feet in length- six inches in diameter. It never lifts itself off the ground- or at least I haven’t seen it do so.

“What…what’s going on? What are you talking about?”

I swear I see a smile flick across its face.

Well then, there’s a fellow! You can speak! I must say, I was a bit worried I found myself a rather slack jawed compatriot.

“I…I don’t…”

Try not to speak, if you can. I find the arbitrary rules of auditory language detracts from the real crux of the conversation. I can understand you fine without you ever even having to think about the words to say.

“What?...the fuck are you talking about?”

Please! I cannot stand to hear you speak.

Ok.

There’s that smile again.

You’re a troubled young man. I can see it.

Hey fuck you, pal!

Please, please! I do not mean to offend. In fact, I intend to help you.

Help me? I don’t need help! I’m fucking fine.

Oh, hush! Foolish pride begets only negative results. I should know. Besides, how can you say that? You exist in a constant state of purgatory. No happy past to relish in, no rewarding present to help ease your pain, and certainly no promising future to motivate you. At least not as long as you stay on the course you’re currently jaunting about on.

Ok, Dad. Wait, how do you know all this?

I told you I intend to help you. And I do. I can provide some reprieve for you, if you would like.

Reprieve? What…what do you mean?

This whole situation is completely out of control. I need to get home. I need to lie down. I need to stop talking to this thing. Is it even, real?

If you would like to leave, you may. You hold no obligation to me. But may I ask? When do you plan on facing your consequences? When will you realize that you simply cannot out run life itself?

I…I…I don’t know how to answer that.

Of course you don’t! You, like untold millions before you, wander through your life without regard for anything. You, however, are extremely fortunate for having met me. Most others live for decades in constant dissatisfaction before dying in a small room filled with a small few who, though they would never admit it aloud, are just waiting for the whole ordeal to be over so that they may return to their hollow lives and repeat the entire process. I can save you from all the misery.

Speechless, I slowly fall to me knees.

What… what are you suggesting?

All that is required of you is quiet compliance. But…you will be done with this life. And that is what is important.

Backwards, I fall to my ass. This is insane.

Ok.

I’ve always hated those asshole suburbanites- nuclear family bullshit. Everyone grows up to be a drone. Buy this, fuck that. Then have kids and buy this shit. Fuck that.

Ok.

Ok, then.

I feel it slowly make its way up my leg; like its voice, it’s warm to the touch but there’s a lingering sensation of thrill and terror. The world begins to spin like when you try to sleep but you’re too dehydrated. I feel a fever coming on. There was a sharp pain somewhere along where it slid across me, but the pain has spread all throughout me now. This was the best decision I’ve ever made. Are you proud, Dad?

I just need to lie down.

[vagueheartswriting]

She Didn’t Ask for It and Neither Did I

I had to kill my cat recently. I say “I” because I was there the night she died. I say “my cat” because I shared a roof with her- bought her food- and because I loved her.

Tazmin and I met through my girlfriend, Erinn. Erinn and I met in a support group. Young, dumb and full of insecurities we quickly moved in together- into her mother’s basement. Erinn’s mom had adopted Tazmin in an effort to fill a hole left by one of the three previous cats that had died. She says that the two remaining full grown cats did NOT like this young girl trying to replace their brother and spent much of Tazmin’s early life tormenting and bullying her. But still, she was loved by Erinn and her mom and brother. She spent most of her time hiding under the mother’s bed only to be greeted with applause from the humans and contempt from the other cats whenever she poked her head out into the big wide town house.

           By the time I met her, Tazmin was bigger than the other cats, but she still lived in fear everyday- only coming out to eat. We lived there for little over a year before we finally decided we’d get our own place. During this time, Tazmin started venturing out a little more- but only to sit by the basement door guarding our domain. Eventually, every time I left our dark dwelling, she’d be lying in a ray of sunshine to greet me with her belly exposed and a smile on her face. We decided that when we left, we were taking her with us. And we did.

           After the move, we worried that we made the wrong choice by bringing Tazmin with us. For weeks she would hide in corners concealed by boxes and clutter; any attempt at contact or affection was impossible.

           However, one morning I woke up to find her waiting for me in the living room. But she wasn’t just sitting by her bowl waiting for me to feed her, she was perched on the couch with her head held high. It was a magnificent sight, honestly. Slowly, she found several vantage points throughout our shanty home where she could survey her domain with confidence and poise. She wasn’t afraid anymore. In fact, this was her domain.

We decided to get her a brother- he was younger and more energetic but they got along quite well- even if she wanted to pretend like they didn’t. But he was from the pound- a stray found wandering the streets at a year old. Strays have diseases- like herpes. For them, it stems from an upper respiratory infection. There’s lots of sneezing and gunk ejecting from the face. It’s ultimately harmless if the cat is otherwise healthy like her brother was. Like she wasn’t- though we didn’t know that at the time.

           He had an outbreak. A few days of lethargy, sneezing, and eye gunk and he was back to normal. No sooner than he recovered did we notice that Tazmin was sick too. But she wasn’t just sick- this was no respiratory infection.. In a 72-hour window she went from being congested to vomiting to being so weak she couldn’t stand up.  She found a corner to lie down and catatonically stared at me for these three days. I told myself that she was going to be ok, but I was petrified. I did my best to help her- force feeding her water and wet food.

But it didn’t help.

Eventually she didn’t even fight back when I picked her up out of the corner. At the time I thought she was just too weak, but honestly, I think she was just humoring me. She was comforting me by letting me think I could help. She knew what was coming and she accepted it.

We couldn’t brush it off anymore. We had to take her to the hospital. I’ve had to rush animals to the vet before, but back then I could hide behind cigarettes and various drugs to keep me levelled. And back then I had an adult with me every time. This time it was just me and my girlfriend- and our dying cat.  It was about nine o’clock Monday night when we pulled up to the clinic. The building was sterile and painted in those neutral earth tones that make you feel like you’re in the middle of a desert that stretches on for miles- but somehow still cold.

           She didn’t move on the table, probably because it cooled her down. The nurse kind of came in and out at random- at one point taking Tazmin into the back room. Erinn and I were left staring at a piece of paper that just had prices on it.

           “What do you wanna do?” She asked me like I was able to answer.

           I’d need another set of hands to properly count how many animals of mine that have died. I’d need another set of hand to count the humans I’ve known that are dead now. It happens. You’d think I’d be able to handle death at this point. But I couldn’t answer her question. All I could think about was how out of the realm of possibility it was for us to able to afford these treatment options. That and how fucking unfair all of this was.

           “It’s probably cheaper to put her down.” I said, staring at the floor.

           I was mad that I couldn’t be more clinical about this whole situation. My entire toolbox of coping skills depends on detachment. But for some reason I couldn’t do it this time. Numbness was not an option. Ironically, my emotions had paralyzed me so badly that I’m sure I would’ve been more useful if I had turned off the emotional spigot. Of everyone and everything I’ve ever had to say goodbye to, none of their departures had ever depended on my participation. Again, I say “my participation” mostly because I was there. I didn’t have the money to pay for any of this. I was just moral support, basically. And even in spite of that, I was/am still entirely wrapped up in how I feel- about how hard all this is for me.

Erinn stepped outside to call her mom. I don’t know exactly what she was thinking at this point but I’m sure she was tired of me crying and not doing anything to help.

I was alone in the room for what seemed like hours- just staring at the floor. It was at least ten-thirty by now and the clinic was empty except for us. Except for me, now. Every time a shadow moved under the door I sat up expecting to hear something. Expecting good news- that she’s fine- that she just needed some water- that she’s a stubborn bitch who refused to die. I needed to hear these things. I did not get to hear these things. As the clock on the wall continued with its faint tick-tock I thought about my brother. He was killed in Iraq when I was 13. By now, I’ve mostly made peace with his death, but for a long time I blamed myself. How selfish- to think that I’M responsible for my brother dying in a war-zone. That somehow his death is about me. How could it not be? I’m the one who has to deal with the pain.

So here I am- alone in a vet clinic- preparing to kill my cat and reliving every time I’ve ever said goodbye and the pain is still raw. It’s not dulled or diminished; instead, it’s fucking searing. It feels like my chest is collapsing while someone takes a hot pickaxe to the back of my heart when Erinn walks back into the room. She smiled at me.

“Mom said she’ll pay for half of the bills.”

“…what?”

“Mom said she can pay for half of her medical expenses. Tazmin’s gonna be alright.”

I was speechless. There’s no fucking way this is true. Something actually worked out in the end?

Of course, I realize that this is an incredibly selfish and melodramatic sentiment. It’s also very naive.  

We paid the THOUSAND fucking dollars (I say WE because… well you know) and went home. Erinn and I breathed a collective sigh of relief on our way out.

By now, it was 11:30 or so. I was starting to take my pants off when Erinn’s phone rang.

“Hello? Yes, this is her…”

I can’t really remember the words but I heard her voice change.

“Oh…ok. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Is it time?” I asked. She replied with a silent nod and quiet sniffle. Then she turned to me.

“She has AIDS. There’s nothing we can do. They’ll have her ready when we get there.”

AIDS. Our cat had fucking AIDS. This same cat who had JUST broken out of her shell and was starting to conquer the world- had fucking AIDS. My cat had fucking AIDS. Even after everything- after everything I’ve done to get my life together- my luck would still be my luck, and my luck delivers little jewels like Feline AIDS.

The sky on the drive back was cloudy and blocking the star light. The radio was off and there was no one else on the road. Each of us stuck with our own thoughts. I was finally able to detach at this point. I told myself that Erinn needed me to be strong so I had to suppress my own feelings.  Typical self-obsessed bullshit. Honestly, I was just scared of my feelings. I needed that shelter that drugs used to give me. When we got to the clinic the staff was beyond silent. The nurse and the nice lady at the front desk just kind of looked at us. You know- that look. Heads down and eyes almost shut, Erinn and I marched into the back room where they had Tazmin in an incubator.

She was basically high. They had pumped her full of meds and oxygen and was slowly dying in front of us. But she seemed fine. She was smiling. She labored her head up when we came close. She laid it back down as we started petting her.

“Just let me know when you’re ready.” Said the bitch doctor who wanted so badly to kill my cat.

I wasn’t ready at all. This was all so unfair.  Tazmin may have been brave, but I sure as hell wasn’t. Not at this moment. I shed my fear of feeling so that Taz could see how much I cared. I let go. Honestly, I’ve had friends die recently that I didn’t cry like this over.

She was ready to go, though. She had AIDS, of all fucking things, and she was tired of hurting. She didn’t deserve AIDS. She didn’t deserve to be tormented and abused- to live in constant fear and anxiety. But she somehow transcended these things. She was able to blossom out of her own self-fulfilling prophecy and live a life she was happy with.

She was a role-model. And she was my cat. And I loved her.

iry":�}��3q

[vagueheartswriting]

The Balcony

           I can’t sleep…again. I can’t get this image out of my head. It’s not like I’ve never seen it before; it’s not particularly unique. Just an old and barely stable steel balcony attached to an even older concrete building. I see it every day when I leave my home. But, tonight I saw it at a perfect angle in the perfect light- circumstances I’ll never be able to recreate again, I’m sure.

           The place I live has history and character unlike anywhere I’ve ever lived prior. The story is that it’s an old military base- Army, I’m sure- active primarily in the early 1900’s. The property a large concrete rectangle lined buy ramshackle huts that resemble shoeboxes more than homes. In the center is a courtyard complete with a community grill and a fire pit. On the back end of the rectangle stands a tower- formerly the control center for the base. This is the only building where there are multiple apartment: one large flat on the bottom and four very small studios on the top. It’s ironic to me that the sturdiest and largest building here is the one with the highest turnover rate; in less than a year I’ve seen at least 4 tenants move in and out. Eviction notices take the place of lawn care flyers here.

           Anyway, this balcony caught my eye tonight. This side faces the alley connecting a sleazy motel ($40 for three nights) to the public trail that runs across a river. Let’s just say there’s high traffic through this alley. Even as I type this I can hear people dragging their feet across the dirt while they mumble incoherently to themselves. I don’t know the people who live up here. Not well, at least. There’s one tenant who seemingly has no set schedule ever and can often be seen leaving the apartment at very unspecific times, hopping on a bicycle, and rides up the alley to Godknowswhereville. The other tenant I know a bit more; although, if you’d ask me her name I’d not be able to answer. I think she has at least one daughter that lives with her. I only know this because I bummed her a smoke once while the cops were taking a statement from her. The mothers (ex?) boyfriend had showed up drunk and unannounced- things got ugly. His name I know- Daniel. I know this because I’VE had to personally call the cops on him for lying in front of my door in the middle of the afternoon and refusing to move.

           Now don’t get me wrong. I do not look down on my neighbors. These are my people- this is where I come from. My step-dad was the one who would show up unannounced and drunk and violent. The cops woke me up several times as a child to make sure I was ok and that I wasn’t being harmed. I’ve lived on that unstable balcony tucked away behind trees and small businesses. This is my home.

           The thing about old buildings- they will always have more to say to you than you to it. It’s a rule of nature. This balcony- that I know hasn’t been replaced since AT LEAST the 1940’s- has given ground to more love and violence and peace and aggression than I could ever even hope to experience. I lied in bed thinking about how many time police have marched up those rusting stairs- how many young couples hung their feet through the bars and looked at the mountains- how many screaming matches led to someone slamming the door and tearing down those stairs- and how many children scaled them on their way to go see Grandpa.

           Last winter, I heard two of my neighbors commiserate about the balcony. How much our “slum-lord” of a landlord could care less about one of his tenants falling 15 feet down if it just fell down. But if those steel stairs did decide to cave in and bring the balcony down with- I think they’d have the right.

iml07zd

[rancidofficial]

#Rancid & @iggypopofficial - No Fun: 2005

[vagueheartswriting]

Love me better.

Kiss me back.

Listen more.

[i-hate-yoga-deactivated20190626]

please unmute this

[vagueheartswriting]

Oh, but I do regret...

Oh, but I do Regret…

By, God. Phd.

 Oh, but I do regret…

Having cold winds blow.

Bone piercing chills leave people only

To bitch and to moan.

 Oh, but I do regret…

Erecting Wal-Marts everywhere.

Everywhere.

Everywhere!

 Oh, but I do regret…

Creating the French.

Too much to drink that night.

 Oh, but I do regret…

Not making global wi-fi.

For, though stunted progress is reason first,

Twenty-somethings crying about their phones?

There’s nothing worse.

   Oh, but I do regret…

Giving them free will.

How was I supposed to know

that they’d only want to kill?

 Oh, but I do regret…

Showing Adam; Eve that tree,

Had they not eaten,

There’d be no pain, no guilt, no suffering

No bigotry.

 Oh, but I do regret…

Letting humans write my word.

People suck and aren’t too smart.

If it were me there’d be far less bodies lying in the dirt.

 Oh, but I do regret…

This current stream of consciousness.

It weighs heavy on me,

I should’ve stuck to trivial things.

 Like wind and Wal-Mart,

and global internet.

It’s much too hard to solve all else.

I’d rather sleep and just forget.

But I am, indeed, full of regret.

Does that not cleanse my wrongs- all they begat?

Perhaps I’ll talk about it to my Rabbi.

If you can be forgiven then tell me, why can’t I?

[vagueheartswriting]

Let’s go dancing in the mall

Chasing dreams and city hall

They say “we’ve got brains too small”

They forgot the point of it all

 I’ve been fighting off my nerves-

My penchant for destructive words

I find I’m more innocent

Than those running for president

 And I’m no saint.

I’m surely a sinner.

But if we dance together

We can forgive each other.

They all paint

The picture together

So let’s party together

And just forget the others.

 My ears bleed in harmony

With piercing dishonesty

And blatant misogyny

What the hell is policy?

 You could say that I’m confused

Why I’m not crafting a noose.

Everyone resigns in death

But what good does that do ‘til then.

 Nobody’s a saint.

I’m sure we’re all sinners.

But if we dance together

We can forgive each other.

They all paint

The picture together

So let’s party together

And just forget the others.

[bayareahardcore-deactivated2015]

[vagueheartswriting]

woah holy fuck i havent felt this shitty and alone in a long time

[vagueheartswriting]

Man... Now I can't get her outta my head. This might prove to be an issue

[vagueheartswriting]

Aaaannnnddd now I can't get her outta my head... This might be a problem

[vagueheartswriting]

I found these today. I miss my brother

[the-perks-of-eating-pussy]

people who are super cute and dorky but also secretly kinky as fuck are very important