I have no outlet for my frustrations nor my musings and it feels like being slowly suffocated by a cow’s ass.

I would rather converse with a wall than 90% of the people I know.

I hate writing.

It’s incredible how much time is spent contemplating the dynamics of misery. 

What is it? Where does it come from? How do we lessen its pain? Or can we not feel it at all? Is there something we did to deserve this? Was it my fault all along?

Happiness, though, that’s simple. No one questions that, they just pursue it. They don’t ask what it is or when they’re feeling it. And everyone has their pre-conceived notion on how to get it.

The reason we never ask how to dispel misery or obtain happiness is because it’s so fucking simple. You reach out and give a shit about someone, their hearts are instantly lifted. When someone stands by and cares for you in return, your misery is no longer present. 

Why the hell the human race seems so opposed to doing this, now that, is worth countless hours of contemplation. 

I mean, doesn’t it bother you? Being a walking cliché? 

Even a little?

Trying to decide what to post about on tumblr.

• Use the written word to express my thoughts.
• Something awkwardly sexual.

I wish “what the fuck happened to you? You used to be awesome.” was a legit question and didn’t piss people off and they’d just give you a straight answer.

Don’t ask me about my future. I’m continually trying to trade my futures for a spectacular present and an unforgettable past.

So I was really fucking cold because it’s cold outside

But then I realized my window was open so I closed it and now I’m just extremely hot ergh.

Clothing is a first world problem.