why are there bruises on my knees
i snuck into your house while you were sleeping and used one of those doctor reflex tester hammers to beat the shit out of your knees specifically
(Source: grantairefanclub, via keepingupwiththekardacheyennes)
sometimes a bitch wants to get railed and that’s valid
(Source: mizogyny, via keepingupwiththekardacheyennes)
For Ryan, who died in June
I remember when I used to keep you up because I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if we fell asleep together. I faked sick and made my breath smell like Newports and false fever, bleeding on your bed just to make you understand that you had to take care of me. You told me you’d not miss me. You told me you might not be able to control yourself, hold yourself back. Zenny’s clothes in your closet and May’s foggy breath on your window. Coffee date after coffee date, nothing. I don’t know what happened one day – maybe it was the chunk of frozen food your mother uselessly shipped to you to try and make up for fathers 1 2 & 3 over the years. Maybe it was when you asked me if I liked to eat Top Ramen cooked in a coffee maker, stale grounds still floating in the water. You grew your hair long, ate roll cakes on LSD. I wasn’t sure who I was to you anymore, but I liked that better than staying up all night in bizarre sleep and having you get irritated at me for learning Greensleeves on the guitar faster than you.
Tell me, is that it? A stupid lovecrime and a salty neck to prove it. Hot shower, hotter day. Was I supposed to know you weren’t okay because you tried to have sex with my roommate?
Nevermind the funeral. Nevermind Ruby. Nevermind 407 Rugby Road and DJ walking on the scorching path in front of me (too awkward that that was the way we met for the first time).
I didn’t have any pictures to prove that we were close. I deleted them all ‘cause I was real mad. Didn’t know your favorite foods. Or the books you read past the time you used to take Chinese and make fun of your roommate and fuck girls all night with him in the same room.
Full bottle of Lorazepam. 45 tablets, 1 mg each.
Having faith in music you haven’t heard – having faith that it sounds good.
By the numbers: Tom Waits all night (4 hours) while I glued on fake nails, with you snoozing in the corner. Grilled cheese and 9 beers, with you hurling in the toilet. 4 months of radio silence and then suddenly a desperate phone call about subliminal messages. My book shirt and paisley sweater, you can keep ‘em, I know you can’t exactly give them back but I thought you might think I’m funny for giving you permission.
All the numbers are gone, replaced by random not-quite-manly faces with Jesus Christ hair and stubble. I can’t help but chuckle when they show up on the train, the corner store, the flower shop.
I don’t think anyone wants to believe that I knew you at all, but can you even blame them?
All I remember is dusty pink – coral – burgundy kidney beans – forest spinach – dingy yellow rice – and that 3 dollar egg and cheese on a hero. Spicy mustard. We both knew what we signed up for, we both knew it was going to be a lot. I know I’m early but –
Happy Birthday, kid.
