Listless

Sweet looks like I will prolly be doing chemo fuck the world

Selective Lobotomy

writinginthenude:

Let me erase you
and abate these stagnant thoughts
Free my anguished mind

You still need only ask and I will be there

I am not a pet

writinginthenude:

Baited by romance
On a short yoke I am kept
Subjugated love

Struggle

I am doing much better today, I have decided to write more on this tumblr thing. I am not feeling creative but am truly feeling better. The doc has ruled out some of the worst but not all, I am coming to terms with being sick and being healthy. I promise to myself to get back to writing and drawing and all that good stuff. For those of you that read this for any thing I have done in the past I am sorry I have been absent or just plain boring. After today no more! Before I leave this evening I will leave this one story for you as I think it is hilarious.

A couple of nights ago I was overwhelmed with all that is going on with me,I was in the depths of despair to quote a classic. I had no one home or no one to call (or so I felt, before all you amazing friends I know I do have come beating down my door) so I ended up calling the national suicide prevention hotline, it rang, I sobbed, it rang further, I sobbed further. Then, I got voicemail. Voicemail!!!!! I laughed so hard for so long it pulled me up just enough to say fuck it and go to sleep. Anyway, good night all, connect with you soon!

-Isaac

men with dirty hands,

writinginthenude:

a rough caress on supple skin

is delicate upon burdened youth

calloused palms lend conviction to filthy cuticles

as muddy boots pave boulevards of reverie

a bridge that is built o’er treacherous bouts

is held aloft by brawn and clout

but that strength which prevails in vigor

is void without the humanity of dirty hands

Sick and Alone

possiblyapoet:

I smell your sounds
And hear your smell-
Taste
        Your
Touch
When you don’t dwell
Beside me in the bed.
I cannot let the feeling
Of you free, I cannot
Forget our dying skins
Beneath my sheets,
The way it is
        To
            Breathe
The breath of me,
And not of a machine.

I have a crush on a bearded stranger.

writinginthenude:

I would trade away a year in time

if every day of that year could be Monday

an entire 365 days for just seven quiet hellos a week

muttered from beneath a mass of thick bristles

and accompanied by a smile