hipstertrashwithacamera-blog - Tumblr blog

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would you care if I slipped? if I was climbing down and my foot simply fell off. I'd tumble to the ground. crumble at the impact. my body would cripple at the pain and I would cringe inside, but would you care? you would care if it involved my sexual activity, but would you if it simply affected my walking ability? you can still have sex with a broken foot, yeah it may be a bit difficult to do but, would you still care?

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You used my own words against me. You turned them into knives to stab me in the throat. Dug the knife deep into my skin and slice. I'm bleeding. I feel like I'm dying. The pain that you induced is more than any that I've ever been through. Yet. It's not the pain from the gaping cut along my neck. It's the pain from all the words and lies you've said.

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you leave your trail of kisses down my neck. God how can something so wrong feel so damn right? you're my ex. we shouldn't be doing this. we both like someone else. but God damn I wouldn't rather be doing this with anyone else. each kiss sends a chill down my back. God I can't believe you still have this affect on me. this. is. wrong. this is sooo wrong. but God damn! something this wrong should never feel this right.

[hipstertrashwithacamera-blog]

At just 5 I started to question myself At just 6 I started to doubt myself At just 7 I started to give up on my dreams At just 8 I started to not talk to as many people At just 9 I started trying to fit in more At just 10 I started to feel uncomfortable about myself At just 11 I was curious about death At just 12 I started to starve myself At just 13 I was pushing my friends away At just 14 I was a concoction of pills AT just 14 I started hurting myself At just 14 I started doing drugs At just 14 I started drinking AT just 15 I was in and out of hospitals AT just 15 I hated my reflection At just 15 I thought I fell in love At just 15 I had my heartbroken At just 16 I had looked death in the eyes more than i can count At just 16 I had more scars than I can even count At just 16 I couldn't look at myself in the mirror without crying At just 16 I tried changing myself to be perfect

[hipstertrashwithacamera-blog]

What is Love?

Love is a strange illusion of which not many people know the real meaning. I myself don’t even know the real meaning. Of course there’s your traditional dictionary definition: love /ləv/ noun an intense feeling of deep affection. What exactly is the meaning true meaning of it though? Is it that funny feeling you get in your gut whenever you see a certain feeling or is it when all the songs could mean the way you’re feeling? Is it trusting someone with everything you are no matter how many times they hurt you or is it being willing to do anything for that person? Is it someone who you can support through all of their dreams or is it someone you can be a total idiot with and not care? Unless, maybe it’s all of this. Maybe love is simply something you know when you finally feel it for yourself.

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I Remember The Day

I remember the day you asked me to be yours,

Goddamn, I was on cloud nine,

We were happy, despite the wars,

Yeah, I may have lost some, well all, of my friends,

By hey, why did I need friends when I had you?

Actually, I needed my friends too,

But I didn’t care about them when I could call you mine,

I don’t know at the time that you were a snake slowly poisoning me beyond amends,

I remember the day you kissed me,

Lips set ablaze at our first,

But that was only to me it seems to be,

I was only there to quench your thirst,

Deep down I knew I was losing myself to you,

I was being consumed by you,

My soul was being sipped away with each kiss from you,

But I didn’t care because I was already submersed,

I remember the day you tried to get me to do something wrong,

Of course I yelled at you,

But you tried to get me to go along,

However, that was something I’d never do,

But you laughed, which to me was somehow still a song,

But wait, I didn’t do anything so,

Now I’m a prude?

I don’t mean to be rude,

But who says that me not wanting to touch your dong,

Makes me a killjoy,

I’m sorry that I don’t want to be your little hoe,

So if you want to “hit” something, stick to your bong,

I remember the days of keeping my phone beside me in bed,

Waiting for a message from you,

Images of you lifeless rushed through my head,

“I want to die” was what you last said,

Where were you?

A guess? Well, I had a few,

Your ex perhaps,

Little did I know she was actually in your lap,

I remember the day you ended it,

The morning before school with a lousy text,

The memories that flooded the halls made me silently have a fit,

Seeing you with your ex,

Resisting the urge to shoot you a text,

I wish you told me the truth,

that I was just another name to add to your list,

At least then I’d be able to get out of bed,

At least then you’d get out of my head,

At least then I wouldn’t remember the day you asked me to be yours

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The King of Manipulation

They call her the Queen of Compassion. Compassion was her degree earned at the university of a good heart. Guys who mistake these skills for an easy one-night-stand look at her with lustful gazes; those who know the truth look at her with loving eyes. Her life is full of a constant mission to help fix as many people as possible. She takes thrill from mending broken hearts.

They call him the King of Manipulation. Deception was his degree earned at the university of good looks. Girls who mistake these skills for affection look at him with admiring gazes; the ones who know the truth turn their heads. His life is full of a constant mission of breaking as many hearts as he can. He takes thrill from watching hearts break.

Maestros of two drastically different arts such as these should never associate with one another; it's like putting a lion and sheep in the same room and expecting them not to eat each other. However, this exact thing happened a month from this day.

It's not like it was the end of the world. There wasn't a zombie apocalypse. No meteor fell from the sky to wipe out mankind. No spur-of-the-moment nuclear warfare. Just a fresh coffee stain on a shirt and books spewed everywhere. He was rushing to get to his wrestling match; she was trying to get to her study group. They weren't looking where they were going when they ran into each other. She felt terrible. He saw his next victim.

He helped pick up her books while she apologized for the, now stained, coffee on his shirt a million times in a matter of seconds. With a charming, yet secretly devious, smile he informed her that it would all be okay, it's just a shirt anyway. A short conversation later and they had plans to get coffee together the next day.

The coffee date was a success. She found the next person she was going to help; he found his next goal for a one-night-stand.  They both began to talk frequently, but the more they talked the more she fell for him and his manipulative ways. In her eyes, he wasn't a manipulative person. He was simply just a man who was hurting deeply and was in need of some form of comfort.

A few months later, the King of Manipulation finally succeeded at his goal to get in the pants of the Queen of Compassion. It took him a lot of work. He told her that he loved her. He bought her fancy things. He told her that he needed her. He convinced her that he was broken and she was the only one that could help. He made her feel beautiful, cared for, loved.

The morning after, the Queen of Compassion woke up to an empty bed, a stingingly cold hotel room, and no note. She tried calling him. Showing up to where they first met. Talking to his friends. Then she realized: he made her feel like he was the only one for her only to get to have another notch on his belt.

The King of Manipulation had yet another victim of whom he ruined forever.