With Tears In My Eyes, I Begged You To Stay/you Said, “hey Man, I Love You, But No Fucking Way” Or

The wind is as cold as my feet tonight.

Outside on thanksgiving, in my grandparents back yard. I’m almost half as tall as the tree that once towered over me. I’m more comfortable here than I am inside. I like being alone better sometimes, when my head isn’t too loud. And I am grateful for many things. For him. For my best friend/the only girl I’ve ever loved. For my cat. For the cool windy air. For stolen, secret lunch-break kisses, and flirting with people I’ll never have. that the band that’s always been a part of me, might now actually work out someday. For my cousin. For the bands on the radio that got me this far. That I can express how I feel, even if it’s only in what I write. For all my friends, the people I know I can count on. That he’s still alive. I think the thing I’m most grateful for is that I’m still alive to experience the rare good things in my life. I held on long enough for that. And it would be a tragedy if I had died before finally being happy. Goodnight, I guess. (For once I think I mean that.)

‘‘Get Busy Living (In The Purgatory Of Your Real Life)’’

Once upon a time, I was a young boy. Born under a nighttime haze. With skin of stardust and tears like burning oil. A soul so bright nothing could damper it.

Now my soul is full of pallor. And my skin is grey. I have memories formed of the harshest sunlit days and the coldest moonshine nights. I could only grow into the threadbare skin they gave me.

~

I think back to nothing fond at all. These days the darkest parts of my brain are put together like a jigsaw puzzle filled with missing pieces and misplaced optimism. 

He is my only light. A boy just like me but infinitely more perfect. Beautiful, confident, sewn together with golden threads. Clean and pure. The antithesis of everything I've become.

‘’Get busy living’’, they tell me. But how am I supposed to live if he's not here to pave the trail ahead of me with his golden, elegant glow? You’d understand if you ever stood in the full glory of his love. Without him, it's not living, not really. It’s only a day-by-day slideshow, built to exist and li[v]e. 

~

I pale in comparison to all that he is. (He is the best part of me.) My blood is motor oil and my scars are rust. My features are burns against untainted, snow white flesh. I was made for the purpose of art, yet I have become what I always feared was the ugliest part of me. 

My soul is corrosive. It’s eating me from the inside out. Bones break and hearts shatter. But I’ll serve my broken body on a silver platter, in the hopes that he will take me as I am. That he will accept what little I have to offer.

~

He’s made me that boy again. The person I lost over the years. (Could I finally start to live?) The sky is full once more, lit up with the light of ten thousand galaxies. He is the man in the moon, watching over me even when he's not standing beside me.

~

My heart beats in time again. The stars align and I’m given back the matches that gave me that flicker to begin with. A small fire starts up in my ribcage, and I think that maybe I’ll have a bright light leading my way once again. Something to keep me warm and to give my soul back its glow. Stardust skin and the feeling that I’ll never be alone

I am a boy written by pete wentz

best friends, ex-friends ‘til the end. better off as lovers (not the other way around.)

You get out of the hospital again. I’ve been worried sick. I’ve left you a dozen messages. What do you do? Do you call? Text? Tell me you’re home safe? No, you go to fucking Disneyworld while I’m worried sick, scared that the man I love is hurting. Scared that you might never come home. So I can’t forgive you for this. Not that you’ll apologize anyway. I spill my guts to you, I tell you the hell I’ve gone through, and you only acknowledge our two-month anniversary. I tell you everything hurts and you recite lyrics from a 2010 radio hit. You tell me you love me and it feels hollow and empty. 

Maybe your mom is controlling, but you’re the one who won’t make any efforts to see me. I’d walk through hell for you, and you won’t even call me back. I’m not even tired of your shit like I was before. I’m just angry. You’re so distant I can’t even get you on the phone to tell you I don’t think this will work out. Better off as friends, that’s how I’ll put it. But the truth is worse, because it’s true that truth hurts. You can’t even care enough to get up off your ass and do something, anything to get to see me. And I can’t be the only person in this relationship willing to do everything. I hate your favorite color and your favorite singer now. I hate your stupid, pretty face and your last name. I hate your bleached hair and hazel eyes. I hate the way I look at you. I hate that it hurts so much to say goodbye. I hate that it hurts so much to love you. 

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair //fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds// phone call or text// laundry or dishes // pool or beach //flats or heels //stay home or go out // coke or pepsi // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram// over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo //parties or picnics // white lights or multicolored lights

Thanks for the tag @youreyesaremyfavoritecolor no pressure:

@empty-pools-vacant-alleyways, @ghostopossumlives

thank you for the tag @lirenthenonlyrist <3

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair //fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds// phone call or text// laundry or dishes // pool or beach //flats or heels //stay home or go out // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram// over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo //parties or picnics // white lights or multi-coloured lights

no pressure tags: @pretentiouswreckingball @ablique @doofranch @callmesel @friendofthefrogswastaken :)

I’m the type of guy to gaslight myself into being straight . I know this because unfortunately I’ve done it 7301965 times and it hasn’t worked any of them..

delor.

the world is my stage and im blundering my way through a closed-curtain performance. a close call, set to halftime.

I told you my deathbed secrets. Cause nobody else’s ever made me feel so alive. I love you.

–s.s.

•Cinderella•

I would break my knuckles and bruise my knees just to hear your name. But you wouldn’t do the same for me cause you’re still in love with a boy who hurts you. [Something that I never could do to you.] I’d cough up my stomaches so you could have pure air in your burning lungs. I have a bullet with your name on it, so when it pierces through my heart, we’ll be together in my dying moment. I’ll wish for the song to slow down, and you’ll wish for it to be Thursday already. I’d give you whatever you wanted; my heart, my love, or my head on a platter. Anything that could make you smile, I’d be happy to tear from my body. But you wouldn’t even want me. When I hear about how they treat you, that’s the first thing that kills me. The second is that you’ve accepted it, that this is your life. The third charming thing is the fact that you'll never look at me the way I look at you. Your mother is cruel, and my father was wicked. We’re cut from the same cloth, two peas in a pod, born for each other. It’s written in every dying star just how much I love you. When I write shitty songs and practice even shittier chords, it’s you on my mind. [Always.] When we met you had red hair and crooked glasses. I was instantly drawn to you. [Like a moth to a flame.] You’re everything to me. Would you give me the time of day? Would you do whatever it takes? Would you kill for me? Would you burn the world to give me a light to sleep by? Would you go as far as I would? Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’m manic. Maybe none of this means anything. The only truth I have is that if this was a fairytale, we would be the happy couple, riding off into a rose gold sun. But true love is a hoax and I’m writing to you like you’ll ever see this shit. If you let me, I’d be your prince. [Would you be mine?] No one else’s lips will ever be my one true love’s kiss. 

xoxo

--Spencer <3 (always yours.)