go-hiphop416:

WUTANG CLAN

go-hiphop416:

WUTANG CLAN



go-hiphop416:

Mobb Deep

go-hiphop416:

Mobb Deep




Here is what I know:
You drink your coffee black and we are afraid of each other.
Once you kissed my neck in front of your friends
and it made me very shy.
Once you kissed my stomach and I started crying.
I see the tender way you touch things and want to kiss your nose
but I keep my mouth to myself.
Your collarbones are craters big enough to fit my fist into.
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in months.
I was not good to the last person I loved so I punished my heart
(I let it break and bleed out then roughly sewed it back together)
It is hard to write poems when I only know how to fuck you.
I am always trying. I am thinking of Somedays. I am saying goodbye.
You asked why I never write anything honest so I am writing you this.
Unknown (via perfect)

(via t0ughshit)


you don’t understand

It’s hard when you need to break but your ego is too big even for yourself. I hate myself. I don’t know why, it’s a mystery to me as well as you. Maybe I’m angry at myself for whatever reason. I’m tired of wanting to kill myself in such brutal ways. I need something new. I need something safe. I’m not safe to myself anymore. I have to have a cigarette every night to calm my nerves and then my pill and hope it works fast so I can fall asleep, so I don’t snap. I want to break down and cry, I do. But, I can’t. I don’t know why. It’s hard not knowing who you walk around as. You feel like you’re wrong body. I’m not happy, I don’t know if I ever was. I got hurt, I got fucked over. I loved her, and she broke me. I have scars, not physical. But, mental and emotional. I’m a ball of anger, stress, and depression and I don’t know when I’ll break for real. I’ve cried, I’ve been hysterical. But, I haven’t broken. I don’t know if I will.. I don’t know if I can. I wish I didn’t have this wall so god damn high, I wish I could talk and say what I want to on my lunch breaks, therapy sessions, drug classes and AA meetings. But, I can’t. I can’t even tell my mom. I imagine running into poles when I drive, imagine cutting my veins in my wrist and arms at work when I look at box cutters. I wish I could feel something other than pain. It’s unbearable. I wish I did kill myself. I wish the pills worked. I imagine a heaven, but I’m not in it. Everything is so dull when I look at it. I’m emotionless. I wish the wound healed. But, I’m told it never will, subconsciously that is. I wish I had the balls to end it. I really do. Being sober is hard. Now I can’t escape. Reality is too real. It’s a lot to take in at 17. The memories fade so fast. So does happiness and hope. I don’t have hope. I have wishes of happiness and success. I do. But, I don’t have the energy to get it. This is the deepest I’ve gone into this feeling. The feeling of emptiness is a strong feeling. But, it’s a feeling. A sick comforting feeling. Everyone looks so happy and perfect with life and I feel like everything I’ve been through, I deserve it, but “god” has something else planned for me. Usually I can foresee things. I don’t foresee being alive in 3 years. I don’t foresee my kids like I used to. Things change. I get jealous when I hear about people killing themselves. How fucked is that. Why couldn’t I trade them places? But, on the other hand, I wouldn’t wish this feeling on the most evil person in the world. I really fucking wouldn’t. Music helps, for so long. Not anymore though. Nothing does. Nothing helps me anymore, nobody can… But, they all try. I won’t let people in.



(via calins)