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what kind of person am i

i'm picking out flowers - tiger lilies - for his funeral and reading through some of his last wishes. he wants to be buried with his teddy bear. the one from when we were kids. it's up in the attic now, buried in dust, probably, and it's sitting right next to mine. mine's name is kous kous, his is rhodney. im not crying, but i think i should be. what kind of person, what kind of MONSTER, isn't crying right now? he would be crying if our places were switched. what kind of sister am i? i cried yesterday. over his notebook. "and hey, man, guess what? in a few years, you'll be older than i'll ever be. remember all those times you used to tease me for being an old man? i'm teasing you from the afterlife right now." that's what he said. and i cried about it. i hate how he could still try to be funny. i wish for one second, he would've screamed out into the dark that he didn't WANT to go. that he wanted to stay here, with me and rhodney and kous kous. god must have a sick fucking sense of humor. he dealt this hand of cards, our dad dying, this stupid fucking bone disease, a sister who won't even cry over him, to someone who could still manage to try to make me laugh. i wish he would've wanted to stay. is that selfish? to an extent, i understand it. he was in pain. it was clear whenever he moved that he was in pain. but god, did he even remember? we used to play baseball in the garden. did he remember that? didn't he want to stay? he was gonna be the one to walk me down the isle since dad died.

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how do you watch your brother die

from the start, i knew the odds were stacked against him. it's a rare bone disease, they said. 66% mortality rate. i tried to be as calm as i could when i got the call from our other sibling. he told me to drive out back home, because blue didn't have much time. i didn't cry then. the nickname almost got me, though. almost. when i got there, i stared into his eyes which stared into space. i guess i should've known he'd already look like a cadaver. somehow it scared me still. i sat on the edge of his bed, as if i would break him. the sunlight was coming through the window onto his skeleton face and it felt like some sick dream. some awful punishment. i'm thinking of the time when we i was 9 years old, he was 11, and a rake he was swinging around caught me in the cheek. i guess that scar is going to be all i have left of him. i apologized today, out loud, even though he couldn't hear me, for always holding it against him when i didn't want to do the dishes. our other brother, oldest of us three, sat there sobbing in the old rocking chair that my grandpa made, over a picture of the three of us with mud on our faces after a baseball game. it's the first time i've seen him cry since our dad died. when i walked in, he wiped away his tears and asked me what was up. he saw the agonized look on my face and started crying again. and then he hugged me. and that's what got me. i started crying, i fell down to my knees, i screamed. god, i wish i was in that bed instead of my brother. i don't know where to go from here. to the funeral home, i guess. i'm not sure. right now, i have a hand over the matching tattoo we all have, some dumb stick and poke that we did in our mom's basement, and i'm crying again. idk how to go on from here.

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whenever i listen to this song, i wonder if she's singing about a racing dog or a fighting dog. ofc racing makes more sense, its more common and (i could be wrong about this) i dont think you bet on dog fights. theres something so much sadder about the poor fighter. the racer can never fulfill the dreams that others stake on it and disappoints the ones it loves over and over and over, but the fighter, even when exerting its best efforts, cant manage to do something as crucial as saving itself.

the pure agony of some poor wretched creature, not lovable enough to have human eyes but not feral enough to have a mutt's, fighting tooth and nail for its' life, even though it doesn't even know why because there's no reason for it to live in the first place is so gut wrenching to me.

like as it lays there, scarred, bleeding, tired, dying, it lets out one last long blue note, baying on gods doorstep. its' song begs to be let inside, the night is cold and it is weary and will not survive long without some warmth. it used to be cruel but now it aches for softness. once it was vicious and that has taken all of its' strength. it does not know how to be good without killing something for it. it will flinch under the moonlight, accepting the blows that will never come again.

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Feodor Rojankovsky

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its because youre always pissing in that damn sink

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keep reading long books that are fine but not great <\3 i’m gods strongest soldier

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AHH?? OMG??

Doodle

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poses???? perspective???? omg

sometimes i remember that jinx

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poses poses poses

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whenever i see anything with this kinda black and white except theres no true black or white it brings me right back to my hamilton animatics phase no matter how long its been help

goofy TMA sketch from awhile ago that I didn't post w/ my friends avatar

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ada limón

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From Waiting for This Story to End Before I Begin Another by Jan Heller Levi (via hush-syrup)