Dear America,

Guns are for pussies.

From your pal,
The First Amendment.

I think love can sometimes come in waves ( Read more... )

Defense mechanism. There are all sorts of things I could say, but I would rather you not know. I'd terraform Mars so we could live there. I'd capture your feathery bug friend and we could stare at his spindly legs till we grew bored and flung him out the window. I've thought about making our own constellation. I've been in love with you for years ( Read more... )

I need a photo of me holding my bike juxtaposed to a Jesus carrying a cross.

I think I know now why some girls go for the skinny, pale, reclusive types.

The smell of cigarettes wafting through my window ( Read more... )

I might as well become a full fledged alcoholic. I wonder where I can get certified as an anti-social-non-ambitious-fuck.

I hate God, I hate women and I drink alcohol. Am I Good writer yet?

Fucking fuck Leif, I miss you so much. My skin can only hold in so many tears, I'm soaked on the inside. I listen to the radio every day. I wish I could have gone the extra length to help your strength.

It's been a hell of a year ( Read more... )

Hangin' onto words. Oblivious to oblivion, which I'm told is not an option. The white boy hip hop in the back of my head fuels my ambition to get off the couch, make the coffee, spit words into the digital notebook. Eyes are sick of looking at the same thing all day. I forget how to craft my world around me. I forget a lot of things really. In need ( Read more... )