January 2012
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December 2011
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“KC” | Matt Pond PA
i remember you do you...
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What to do. Where to go. Where. What. Why.
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tiredfoxes:
to think that my words have been etched into your skin the inside of your skull causes my heart to bloom with a thousand tiny buds of orgasm of blood-rush dizziness i hope the ink crawls while you stare up at the hole in the ozone above your bed keeping you awake
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so,
I went to work early this morning, came home midday, fell asleep, and now have to go back to work for the remainder of my evening. Something about this is just so wrong. My bed and I never get enough time together. Pout.
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“Something inside me had dropped away, and nothing came in to fill the empty...”
– Haruki Murakami (via vilude)
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mornings
Listening to an amazingly awesome mix CD made by one of my really great friends (oh no she didn’t, oh yes she did), tagging the tracks using Shazam, and sipping on what has to be the greatest coffee I’ve ever made for myself. Half World Market Pumpkin Spice coffee, half Starbucks Verona. Cream, organic sugar, dead.
this bed though,
I can’t get up. I never want to get up. Everything feels so nice. I like running my hands over my stomach and hips right before drifting off again. I like crinkling my favorite torn sheet to into a ball and holding it as a child would a stuffed animal. Here, my eyes are heavy.
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