Forgotten. Forgetting. Details slip away through the cracks that the marching feet of time create in the pavement of our skulls. Time does not heal all wounds. Time creates new ones.


(via tilthendoftheage)


I can’t ever tell if his silence is my punishment for my doubts or if it is just my doubts punishing me.


Fear. 

I live in fear of opening my mouth to speak and then losing the battle I would most certainly feel that I had caused.

I live in fear of keeping my mouth shut to maintain the status quo and then fading away inside, a little more every single day.

I don’t want to lose.

I don’t want to fade away.


I lose.

Repeatedly.


I’m to the point where there is neither make-up sex nor welcome home sex.

Yay.  Me.


My life is nothing but a string of poorly timed events.


shes-come-undone: This would be perfect tonight

shes-come-undone:

This would be perfect tonight


I can’t stand the thought of her.  She may be there now, but she can kiss my fucking ass.


(via untameddarkmane)



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