bro

dumb bitch writing shit

[macrolit]

Giveaway Contest: We’re giving away fifteen trade-sized paperback classics! Won’t this collection look lovely on your shelf? :D To win these classics, you must: 1) be following macrolit on Tumblr (yes, we will check. :P), and 2) reblog this post. We will choose a random winner on February 24, at which time we’ll start a new giveaway. And yes, we’ll ship to any country. Easy, right? Good luck!

[macrolit]

Here’s our brand new giveaway. :)

[writing-badly]

colour me in

Green Obsession

Possession

I love you,

Love me too,

Pretty blue boy pretty boy

I can be yours. A toy

Just don’t play with my red heart

I love you, you love me? Start.

I’m pink, you’ll be purple. If I’m not pleased.

[macrolit]

Giveaway Contest: We’re giving away twelve Bantam paperback classics by Walt Whitman, Emily Bronte, Edgar Allan Poe, James Joyce, George Eliot, Shakespeare, and others! Won’t this collection look lovely on your shelf? :D To win these classics, you must: 1) be following macrolit on Tumblr (yes, we will check. :P), and 2) reblog this post. We will choose a random winner on September 29, at which time we’ll start a new giveaway. And yes, we’ll ship to any country. Easy, right? Good luck!

[macrolit]

Here’s our brand new giveaway!

[writing-badly]

yo man Sally Cinnamon by The Stone Roses has such nice connotations for me. it reminds me of my boyfriend a lot- at a time it was the only song his spotify could play and i remember us laughing as the intro played yet again

it was also the very first song i heard this year, i was with my best friends- one now my boyfriend, and everything was going good.

[macrolit]

Giveaway Contest: We’re giving away fifteen vintage paperback classics by Homer, Walt Whitman, Carson McCullers, Ray Bradbury, John Steinbeck, Shakespeare, and others! Won’t this collection look lovely on your shelf? :D To win these classics, you must: 1) be following macrolit on Tumblr (yes, we will check. :P), and 2) reblog this post. We will choose a random winner on August 19, at which time we’ll start a new giveaway. And yes, we’ll ship to any country. Easy, right? Good luck!

[writing-badly]

more on that one song

asleep by the smiths holds a strong memory for me

lying in a dark room with my boyfriend, the tv showing spotify being the only light, hearing him sniff as the song played and tearing up as i really listened to it.

looking at him and realising that i felt like that once, recently. i felt like that and i knew, without him, idve asked the same as the lyrics do. not to try and wake me in the morning cause i’d be gone.

for me, asleep tells a story of me that i narrowly avoided. i know its morrisseys words but they resonate with me. trouble me, really.

[writing-badly]

what difference does it make?

[writing-badly]

theres a sickness in my heart that he chases away

[writing-badly]

asleep - the smiths

the difference with Asleep compared to a lot of the Smiths is the music. Unlike the majority of other sad songs he writes where he masks it loosely with cheery guitar riffs and piano vamps.. in Asleep its really mellow, melancholic, sad in a way the Smiths doesnt always sound, its so heart wrenching because it feels like Morrisseys soul laid as bare as it can be.

i always feel really weird about it. it perfectly narrates myself earlier in the year where i felt exactly how he describes, yet because now i dont feel like that i dont relate to it to as me now but i relate it to me in the past. its like looking back yet i never knew the song then.

[writing-badly]

Exhaling from the corner of his thinly parted lips, his chest expanded, letting go of the feeling of death. The feeling of dying. The feeling that his lungs were being grasped by an iron first that refused to let go. The feeling he loved so dearly.

He sucked in a few short gasps of air and crushed the can he held loosley in his pale fingers a moment before. Folding the tin into itself, he tossed it to the side, relating somewhere in the cavern of his heart to the sudden discardment as the empty can bounced once, twice, three times before settling amongst the autumn leaves.

[writing-badly]

writing account

whole bunch of fucking shit