'only in my dreams are you really mine dear'

Sober Thoughts: The Morning After (Jimin)

some people requested i write a 2nd part, when initially i just wrote “Sober Thoughts’ as a one shot, so please forgive me if this isn’t as good. i don’t like it as much as i liked part 1, but please be understanding! hope y’all like it though.

Genre: IT’S SO FLUFFAAAY

Word count: 2300

Rating: E for everyone was included! (you’ll see what i mean) 

Click here to read part 1 

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it’s 3:52 p.m. and i’m on the floor again, just like i was yesterday, just like i was the day before, just like i am every waking moment because

my body is a rebel, it fights against me and refuses to move when i want it to and wants to run when i’m in enclosed spaces and makes me stumble and fall when i try to stand tall and

all of this personality cannot possibly belong to one person, how is it that i want to dance off into the sunset at the same time i want to throw up my insides, how can i become rich and successful while dreaming of guns and knives and cliffs and 

i feel like all of my insides are seeping out, my clothes stained with black-black ink and red-red blood and blue-blue ocean and green-green forests and this really sad grayish color that i think might be my soul and

god, if you knew me years ago you would laugh, you would see who i am now and laugh, and i’m trying to be upbeat and positive, i’m trying to be better, but the truth is that i don’t really know who i am without this overwhelming sadness casting a shadow over me and

if my body just exploded right now i don’t know what would be in the wreckage, if it would be the corpses of all the friendships i’ve let die or the words of my father that might as well be tattooed on my forehead for how often i think of them or the hugs of my mother as she squeezes all of the air out of my lungs or maybe just every single stupid song that made me feel alive for more than .2 seconds and

i am tired so tired so tired and i’m blurry, i’m fading, i’ll probably be gone soon but all of my friends are in the same boat, we’re all just 4.0 kids going to school, going to church (if god exists, i must have royally pissed him off), going ivy league (that’s the dream, possible if and only if i never get a B), going “places” which is what they call it when you’re a gifted kid in 3rd grade but

we’re all just wishingwishingwishing we had more friends, more fun, maybe some more fucking vodka and dear lord i wish i had places to go on a friday night and i wish everything was hazy from drugs instead of my brain playing practical jokes and i wish someone would notice when i get really quiet and

will you bring flowers to my funeral

— 

words my brain spits out

//a.c.p.

\\11.7.15