Tired rants

I wish I could cling to something like the cigarette smoke clings to my clothes in the hamper and the residue of melted candy on childhood dressers 

Blood and gore don’t bother me on tv but when I see my own I can’t breathe—maybe it’s because I have to acknowledge that everything isn’t a dream and the voiceless screams of songs unwritten are what I should dedicate myself to, to feel complete.