Friday, December 6

Keep it

I don’t want to know
The color of your breakfast
The shape of your birthmark
The leanings of your politics

I don’t want to experience
The smell of your gas
The stench of your sneakers
The timbre of your burp

I don’t want to see
Your vacation slides
Your kindergarten medals
Your promotion papers

So, don’t over-share
Talk to my hand
I don’t want to know
Not anymore

I don’t want to know
The way her hair smelled
The way her skin glowed
The way you melted in her kiss

I don’t want to know
I really don't

[via renaissancegirl]

Fishhead. My gills are like, bleeding. Oh, what a pretty sight. Geeze, my gills are like, bleeding. Oh, can we be friends again? No. Geeze, my gills are like, bleeding. Can you hand me that cleaver so I can give you a lobotomy?

What is it that you do not get? It's not like things have not changed --they did, quite drastically even. It's a whole different world now. And while we did say we will remain friends, that was before you dropped your bomb. Apologies don't cut it. You have no sense of history. You say, Yeah I don't. Well I do. You just can't ask me to drop my sked and trek all the way to your place. You swear we're only going to watch videos. We haven't even discussed the whole matter yet. What do you take me for, stupid? Like, wtf is that? I am not a goldfish with a five-second memory.

sigh.

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