Spinning.

Screaming.

Everything’s a blur.

Finally decide to try turning the steering wheel.

Impact.

Pushed around in the driver’s seat.

Airbag.

Glass breaking.

Car finally stopped.

Still alive.

Start the car, get out of the lanes.

Gas pedal.

Nothing.

Gas pedal.

Nothing.

Should I get out?

Impact.

Pushed around again.

Are you okay?

Look down.

Blood.

Car that hit you.

Driver.

Grab phone.

Dial 911.

I got in a car accident.

Do you need an ambulance?

Yes.

Where are you?

Pause.  Can’t think.  680.

North or South?

Can’t think.  Visualize Google Maps.  South?

Other driver walks away.  

Follow to the shoulder.

Look at blood.

Piece of flesh hanging from finger.

I should hold it to stop the bleeding.

Don’t, there might be glass.

Stranger tells you to sit down.

Listen.

Can’t sit still.  Don’t know what to do.

EMT.

What year is it?

Can’t think.  2011? No.  2012.

No, officer, I was not drinking tonight.

No, officer, not at all.

I don’t remember what happened.

No, I did not lose consciousness.

You could’ve died.

You got lucky.

You could’ve died. 

What if we’re going to end up together again?

What if this is just a temporary break meant to show us exactly how much we’re meant to be?

What if find each other again and everything works out and we’re as happy as we always dreamed of being?

We would’ve been perfect for each other now. It’s a shame we dated when we did.

That one text that makes you realize that things will never be the same again.

That one text that makes you realize that things will never be the same again.

Saw this on your Facebook.
I know this is just a game that you play.
But I think that means I lost.

Saw this on your Facebook.

I know this is just a game that you play.


But I think that means I lost.

Is this karma?

Sometimes, I feel like I’m being played.  I feel like you’re feeding me lines because they sound good to say.  Maybe it’s my fault for pushing you away, because I wouldn’t have been able to guarantee I’d stay.  And I know it’s selfish, how much I want you to be mine when I can’t give myself to you the way I gave my heart last time.  But it hurts to read about you and the way she makes you feel, ‘cause it makes the way you feel for me seem like it isn’t real.  

You make me happier than I’ve been in a long time.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I kinda like what’s happening.

Maybe I’m just supposed to enjoy it while it lasts.  

I was gonna not post this for fear of being judged, but remembered this is my Tumblr and I can say whatever the fuck I want.

She has a girlfriend.  Remember, she has a girlfriend.  x.x 

I feel like someone summed up my summer in this picture.
But they forgot the part at the end where they start fighting.

I feel like someone summed up my summer in this picture.

But they forgot the part at the end where they start fighting.

(Source: allmymetaphors)

xenography (n.) - the unexplainable ability to write in a language one has never learned

Few people, if not but two people, understand what lies beneath. Myself not included. This is the me that appears every once in a while on a Facebook note when I can't fall asleep. The deeply emotional person who has been bursting between the cracks of the comedic facade I've spent so long solidifying. This is a language I am not yet well-versed in. I speak in metaphors and hyperbole, sprinkled with both vagueness and ambiguity. I am a poet who hides behind prose. Don't be ashamed if you cannot translate. I'm not just confusing; I am confused. And if you ask me the meaning, I might tell you what I meant, but sometimes, I don't even know myself.

And yet the words come out with more clarity on paper than any utterance of my mouth could convey.

Xenography.