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I have something in my eye.

Fan of weird people, side-boob, zombies, girls with bangs, porn, muscle cars, and blowjobs.

Irish-american, probably drinks too much, tall, dark, handsome, tattooed, achy most days, wears glasses for reading, drives too fast, hits the brakes later than is generally considered safe, world-class whiner, forgetful as hell, slow to wake and slower to sleep, eschewer of all things passive (voice, women, children, knives).

Poster of other people's pictures, honorer of copyrights, deleter of posts when contacted via (friendly) email at afstclair at gmail dot com if you are the owner of the original material and do not wish it to be posted here.

Addicted to nicotine, blowjobs, pretty pictures, and not much else. Ask me, you glorious fuckers

October 1, 2009

Beautiful

charmingortedious:

lovebot:finallyseeing: unicornology:

leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses,
you make him call before
he visits, you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.

— marty mcconnell