Waiting For Our Future @waitingforourfuture - Tumblr Blog

neon gravestones // twenty one pilots

the energy of ordering food via drive thru and then eating it in your car in the parking lot is so powerful. like you could walk 50 feet and sit at a table in the light but we just stan alienation in this country

suburbanjustice

me hunched over in the dunkin parking lot like a goblin, devouring an old fashioned donut in the dim orange light of the streetlamps, abba blasting,

jakemalik

me when i’m not ok but I don’t want people to worry about me

art-woonz

Art by: Ms.Cat

Instagram: @artwoonz

landprince

what if writers did streams like artists did

sodacune

garpfruit

my brain has too many tabs open

downwiththefuckingship

last exit before toll

have you ever stood in a room. and swore you’ve been there before. have you ever considered. chambers of the heart as rooms. have you ever been in a room so red. your head spins. a room so red it burns. why say dissociate. when you can say. you’ve been disenchanted. i can say anything. we can have conversations in italics. we can chase perfume off of a coat hanger in your room. that’s only hypothetical. imagine everything i say. as an interpretation of sadness. imagine that. why are we. always in parking lots when this shit happens. when the shit kicks in. you can always feel the disassociation coming. your whole head pulses. the way it does the instant you know you’re about to cry. listen. i wasn’t laying in that ditch. i was doing yoga. i was entertaining. a reality where we share a door in the atlantic. a reality where you have an affinity for titanic references. my heart was talking shit again. when it happens. i keep trying to time travel. the strobe lights are on in the car. again. it’s 10am. if you black out. at 10am clap along. yesterday i tried. to walk through a mirror at the thrift store. we take turns. stumbling. helping each other up. it’s always my turn. to stand in the rain. ok. there’s good news. and bad news. no one ever tells me the good news. someone called me dramatic. someone called me once. hello. hello. phones for you. hey it’s me i’m dying. sorry. for pumpin that sad shit again. while you were trying to sleep. sorry. for waking you up. there was a pewter cougar. in my room. which is to say. i was alone. and watched a silhouette pass through the light.

downwiththefuckingship

very extremely don't

my eyes water uncontrollably when i disassociate. i don’t call it crying. when someone always someone chiming in. cause me. hello hello. tell me about the tattoo you didn’t get. the one that says tooth & nail. the one that says silence outlives the silent. my whole head is a heartbeat. the music starts. and then the slow motion crows. do you remember that dream. where i read “you are jeff” into your voice mail. listen. don’t tell me to have heart. because. i had one and look what happened. when i disassociate i google words i know the definition to already. i google different ways to tell you stories you’re bored of hearing. i google aphasia symptoms and tell myself i’m fine. some days i’m fine. i tried to walk through a mirror in a thrift store. when i disassociate i get emails from nigerian princes because they miss me. hello hello. i hope this email finds you well. i am writing to you with tears in my eyes. my heart is full of missing dog fliers. my idiot heart. i sit on the couch and flip through the layers. sometimes i’m afraid you think i use my memory problems as a crutch to blame my forgetfulness. sorry. about that. probably goin to hades for that. unbalancing equilibrium. the descent into squalor. i am sorry if you cannot understand the mathematics of my grief. i’m not dramatic. i was only kidding. when i said i wanted to make porcelain copies of the tooth david lost in the car crash. i read too many articles about why people get high and jump off buildings. there should be a word for the plot of land bought to bury someone who hasn’t died yet. there should be a way to articulate that the wind looks like it’s pushing your ghost in a swing. it doesn’t even hurt anymore. every love story goes on without me. the ghostly voices once said