i like the way you smoke your cigarettes

Albert Camus for the Signs
  • Aries: "Deep feelings always mean more than they are capable of saying."
  • Taurus: "There is so much stubborn hope in the human heart."
  • Gemini: "That’s why I like you so much. Your heart isn’t dead."
  • Cancer: "Yes, be patient with me. My heart is heavy."
  • Leo: "Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is."
  • Virgo: "I am on your side. But you have no way of knowing it, because your heart is blind."
  • Libra: "I am strangely tired, not from having talked so much but at the mere thought of what I still have to say."
  • Scorpio: "I didn’t like having to explain to them, so I just shut up, smoked a cigarette, and looked at the sea."
  • Sagittarius: "How can it be that, linked to such suffering, her face is still the face of happiness for me?"
  • Capricorn: "Words that come from the heart are always simple."
  • Aquarius: "Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being."
  • Pisces: "I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world."

you smell of smoke and copper, riches and blood. your fingertips are caked with cigarette ashes, black hair knotted and tarried.

knives hang by your thighs, arched heels upon your feet, too much thigh skin exposed to think clearly.

neon lights glow to show the sultry mood, voice low and fingertips skirting across blade edges. you slaughtered your father with those same slender hands, wrapped them around my heart and squeezed tightly in the same way.

your lips taste like stale alcohol purchased either by trust fund money or plucked by the cashiers hands.

your leg slips up between mine, your hands flitting all over my body, smearing kisses and red lipstick down my exposed neck.

don’t tell.” she whispers, though she knows better.

these are teenage crimes, and this is childish fun; a higher price will be paid one day.

three: teenage crimes. | m.k.

Hour 1
I miss you. I’ve just woken up. But, you aren’t here.

Hour 2
I made us coffee. I take mine the way you do yours. Or, used to. I think.

Hour 3
It’s strange – I need to breathe and I’m having a cigarette. I panic when I remember that you aren’t with me. I know this. But, I try not to think about it.

Hour 4
I am watching the smoke. I wish I could exhale you like the smoke from my cigarette.

Hour 5
I want to cry. I don’t like telling people why you left. But, they ask. It makes me feel more flawed and empty than I am, or want to be.

Hour 6
I never smoked inside, but I can still smell the incense you used around the house. It continues to haunt me. I light every cigarette inside with the hope of not having the incense linger.

Hour 7
There’s no one to ask if I’m stressed. I take a drag, slowly. If you were here and you asked, I would say it’s you. But, you aren’t.

Hour 8
The past won’t go up in smoke. I try. I have tried, but I keep failing. Staring at the smoke.

Hour 9
Sometimes you just need someone by your side. And you trust them when they tell you that they love you. I trusted you. It meant something. And now, it’s all gone up in smoke.

Hour 10
I couldn’t finish the cigarette at first. But, I couldn’t leave things incomplete. I lit it again. It tastes like the concrete on which I put it out. Perhaps, that’s what we would be like – soulless.

Hour 11
Things come though at the eleventh hour. But, not here. Not today. All I do is wait.

Hour 12
There is no darkness, I tell myself. I fear myself now. Not the known past or the unknown future. But, I’m just lying to myself. I exhale.

Hour 13
What I do know is that even in the company of others, I feel lonely. It is then that I ask again.
I ask, for loneliness to be my friend. But, that’s not what I want. I want you here.

Hour 14
My lips sealed off from the truth. My words, my lies, my reality. I exhale, but I cannot escape.

Hour 15
The distractions, still there. The blank stares continue. Love is only a word now. I see it in other people. I hear it in others words.

Hour 16
Three a.m. again. The effects have worn off. One hour is nothing. I can feel the silence. Interrupted, by my own thoughts. I exhale.

Hour 17
You continue to evade me. I cannot help but be consumed in this madness. In your madness.

Hour 18
Can a mirror ever lie? Would it? The smoke absorbed by the mirror. Fading before my eyes. Sometimes, it’s that simple isn’t it? Just watching something disappear before your own eyes.

Hour 19
A prisoner in my own body. This need – unexplainable. Fuck, even I cannot comprehend where we broke into countless fragments.

Hour 20
I dream of the days when we did things together. Now, I just wish to be able to hear from you.  All I hold on to now are memories. Even they seem to be slipping away.

Hour 21
Too afraid to speak in this darkness. I don’t want to hear emptiness or my own voice echoing. I want to hear you whispering in my ears.

Hour 22
I exhale. Slowly. Wishing for the fire that was once us to not be extinguished. But, it was over. It was over well before the day you walked out. It was over well before I sat in silence.

Hour 23
If I knew…If I knew where it went wrong would it be different today? The cigarette twirling in my hand, waiting to be lit, knowing that it will be stubbed out.

Hour 24
Another day, another cigarette. I take you in with every breath. Only to exhale again.

—  Navin E. (24 cigarettes in 24 hours)

how didn’t i see this coming? of course you did this to me. of course you left. you didn’t close yourself off from me because you were gentle and scared; you closed yourself off because you didn’t want me to have you. you didn’t lie so i wouldn’t start a fight; you lied so you could keep me. you wanted me to stay, but you kicked me as i went.

how could i be so vain? acting like i’m the only person in the world who could love you. telling you that you are scum like i wouldn’t take you back the minute you opened your arms. i would take you back with arms so wide that i would be made to believe we can still fly with broken wings. but you are missing and i am allergic to your scent.

i can’t think of you anymore without thinking of you blowing cigarette smoke up my mouth until my insides turned ugly. so i blast your favorite songs in the car and scream until i lose my voice and can’t talk about you anymore. i pretend we will speak again and it will make me happy. i pretend you’ll get sick of the way she says your name like you are brand new. i pretend you’ll get sick of her eyes sparkling in your ribcage. i pretend you’ll get sick of resting your tired eyes in her temples of light. i pretend, because it’s all i can do.

i am your baggage claim; you are free now.

i am free now.

but freedom just feels like showing up in front of your house in the middle of the night and taking a deep breath before circling the block again and returning home. freedom just feels like free drinks and emotional fucks and doing anything to make myself feel as alive as her eyes. freedom just feels like biting my tongue when your friends flirt with me because i see your name stamped on their lips. it’s not fair. my lips are sealed of everything that isn’t you.

people say it’s worse to do the hurting than to be hurt, but if that were true, you would have a knife in your throat. i’m sorry for the nights i fought heartbreak with hatred. but i think the only thing worse than being heartbroken is being dead.

—  baggage claim

in a different universe, we met that night and we just didn’t connect like we thought we would. we never had that spark. you never taught me that I could feel again. in this universe I didn’t set my lungs on fire, smoking cigarettes, trying to taste you again. in this universe I can breathe.

in a different universe, you never taught me how to drive a truck. you never pushed me to get my license. in this universe, I don’t have to remember the way you rested your head on my shoulder as I drove. in this universe it didn’t kill me seeing black pickup trucks. in this universe it didn’t hurt to get in my car.

in a different universe, you never said “I swear I’m so fucking weird around you.” these words don’t spend the next four months echoing in my head. was it because I’m so boring you had to entertain yourself, or because you felt yourself with me? in this universe my mind is calm. in a different universe, you never left. I don’t wonder if I was too much, or not enough.

in a different universe, you came back. you told me everything that I needed to hear. in this universe, you kissed me and I felt something again. in this universe, the only nightmares I have are about losing you. in this universe, I don’t stop sleeping at night because all my dreams are of you.

in a different universe, you never left. we date for three years, then I get bored of you like I did with everyone else. you’re not surprised. I told you this would happen. in this universe, you’re the one who wakes up in the morning with phantom-limb syndrome but where your heart used to be. not me.

in a different universe, I never started writing again. didn’t start crying on paper again. didn’t start breaking pens again. in this universe, you never left.

but it’s this universe, and you left. in this universe it took me a while, but i’m at peace with it. in this universe you have a new girlfriend who you call your universe. in this universe, i’m happy for you.

—  h. vance
When I asked my mom why she smokes cigs she replied with, “everyone has an outlet.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard a truer statement. Everyone has that one thing that helps them to escape reality. Whether you turn on some music, smoke weed until your numb, down vodka like its water, pop pills like their candy, eat until you’re sick, buy until you’re broke, fall for the wrong person for the excitement, or simply smoke a cigarette for a 20 second buzz. Yes, you may do these things for fun or amusement, BUT it’s only fun because of the feeling you get. The synthetic happiness. A way to escape your issues. But it’s temporary. It’s not forever. It’s just an outlet. Choose it wisely.

Aries: It won’t be this way forever. This spiral of anxiety and depression has an end and I won’t let it be your funeral. You will be okay. You will learn to stand on your own feet and we will figure this shit out.

Taurus: for once you’ve made me speechless. But I guess it’s hard to write things about people you don’t even feel like you really know anymore. All I can say is I wish you the best in the world.

Gemini: for fuck sake, stop. Stop getting angry every time I need to get high. It’s not a personal insult it’s just a way I can deal with the demons in my head. It helps.

Cancer: We sit back and smoke cigarettes together. I notice. I notice the way you twitch and how your fingertips are bloody from being chewed to the quick. I want you to know it’s okay. That you’re not alone in the anxiety panic attacks that won’t let you breathe at night. And I hope you know I’m here.

Leo: Did you decide to just disapear? Abandon all your friends that really cared about you? We’re all standing here asking what the hell even happened while you spin down a path we can’t fix.

Virgo: you’re making the right choices. Even if you don’t think you are. You’re making the only choices that you know how to make. You’re trying to make everyone happy and that’s all you can do.

Libra: Forgive yourself. Don’t forgive him. Don’t forgive anyone else. But you? You can forgive yourself because it’s the only person in this whole scenario you have to live with.

Scorpio: let the pieces of what’s happening fall where they are going to. You can’t control what someone else is going to do and sometimes your best option is to walk away.

Sagittarius: What are you doing? Leaving everyone back home mourning the girl you use to be? God I could smack you. But no. When I see you again you will get nothing but hugs. Because I’ve never missed anyone this much.

Capricorn : Sometimes you just need to look up at the stars and realize that the small little mistakes you made are truly just small little mistakes that the universe doesn’t care about.

Aquarius : Learn when to let go. Because from where I stand you are the only one holding on and eventually you need to let go of all of this chaos and except some things will never be the same.

Pisces: Learn to accept olive branches and love. Because sometimes people trying to mend bridges is just that. If they’re willing to apologize then learn to be willing to accept.

—  This week’s horoscope
Nicotine Kisses

Prompt: Requested by Anonymous. “Can I request a super fluff punk!gee imagine?” 

Warning: None

Word Count: 789

Pairing: Gerard x Reader

A/N: You didn’t give me a plot so I hope this is okay, thanks for the request <3</b>

Gerard Way is leaning against your front door, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth that tilts up in a smirk when he sees you. He has a new pin on his leather jacket, it looks like a cat but if it is it’s a crazed one. You smile as you walk up to him, bumping your boots against his and leaning up to peck his nose. He blushes and plucks the cigarette from his lips so he can attach his mouth to yours, kissing you and tasting like smoke and coffee.

“Don’t you ever go home?” You ask, smiling and taking his hand to pull him into your house.

“I thought I was.” He replies, kicking the door closed behind him.

“My parents will kill you if they find you in my room again.” You lead him into the kitchen, pulling out mugs and his favourite cocoa mix. For a badass punk Gee really loves warm, fluffy, happy things like cats and cocoa.

“We didn’t even do anything,” He grumbles, hopping up on the counter. You frown at the blood stains on his dark jeans; they weren’t there this morning at school.

“Everything okay?” You ask, mixing the cocoa powder into the steaming milk.

“Of course, I’m with you.” He grins toothily and you blush, bumping into his knee.


“Only for you.” He gently kicks you in the hip and you stick your tongue out at him. He puts out his cigarette on a dirty plate and blows smoke almost elegantly from his lips-you hate how hot you think that is.

“My room or the living room?” You ask and Gerard smirks at you. “My room it is, bring your cocoa.” You both walk carefully to your room, placing the steaming mugs on the end table and settling on the bed. You kick off your shoes and he follows suit, both your jackets following along.

“Wanna watch Disney Movies?” You ask and he chuckles, nodding. You grin and set up your laptop, turning on Brother Bear and leaning into your boyfriend.

Keep reading

poems i wrote for the signs (ii)

aries: you were smoking cigarettes on top of his old man’s hill at four o’clock in the morning and / it was almost uncanny how the sky was just like the two of you; / it was dark and / it was quiet and / it was mysterious, and so were you, but / the sky couldn’t talk and it couldn’t feel and / sometimes you wished that you couldn’t either / “i love you,” you told him / “your problem,” he replied 

taurus: you’re right here but he’s way over there and / that drives you crazy because sometimes you want to know what his laugh sounds like in person / not over the phone and / you want to know what you look like standing next to him and / you will always wonder if he can kiss your skin the / same way he can kiss your mind / (distance makes the heart grow fonder until the heart just breaks)

gemini: you get nightmares every tuesday about the time he rested his hand on your cheek and really looked at you and / every sunday you’re reminded of how it felt to be / trapped between him and his mangled cotton bed sheets and / mondays are the worst because / you can only think about that saturday when you told him you hated him and / you can still smell the sadness in his eyes / (he was flying, you were crashing) / (this wasn’t the love you thought you wanted)

cancer: you think you’re nothing but a jigsaw puzzle of bones wrapped in someone else’s skin with / a corrupted mind and half a heart but / someday you will meet someone who smells like old books and salt water and / just like the end of a story or the ocean tides / he will teach you what it really means to move somebody / (you won’t know if you’re feeling everything at once or nothing at all but / maybe that’s a good thing)

leo: he never bought you flowers and / he never held the door open and / he only tried to kiss you whenever he had a girlfriend; / you tried so hard to forget about his olive skin and playful eyes but / he still had the nerve to tell you how much he loved you / (do not apologize for missing him; he might have been an asshole but / you still see the good in everybody)

virgo: your twisted heart strings wrap around your chest to leave an unwanted reminder that you love him and / you loved him and / you will love him and / it hurts; / you used to wrap yourself around him every night like / a caterpillar that didn’t want to become a butterfly but / time doesn’t stop for anyone, does it? / (you hit the ground as soon as you left the cocoon) / (how could you fly when your heart is so heavy?)

libra: at seventeen, you should’ve known that / the world isn’t always beautiful and that / life isn’t always lovely and / you should never change the way you are for the sake of a teenage boy but / yesterday he told you that there is something beautiful in death and / you wanted nothing more than to stand on the edge of a cliff and / feel your feet get swept out from underneath you

scorpio: he thinks you’re pretty during the day but / he knows you’re beautiful at night when the only light in the room is / coming from the dreams that are falling quickly from your mouth and / your hands are shaking because they’ve never held his until now; / before you met him, you didn’t think it was okay to like sad things but / he loves how rainy days and sleepless nights make you feel / something worth writing about / (you’re so used to running that you didn’t realize anyone was chasing you)

sagittarius: she doesn’t love him like you do and / you know this because she doesn’t know how he likes his coffee (black) or / what his favorite movie is (hotel rwanda) or / why he’s afraid of airplanes (his sister died on 9/11) / so you tell her; / you tell her that he is an introverted mind with a beautiful soul, / that he has a fragile heart and she cannot fix it no matter how hard she tries; / you do not tell her these things to scare her / you tell her these things  because you might not like her but / you love him / (you know how he deserves to be treated)

capricorn: sixty-four days later and you’re still writing love songs on your bedroom wall for / all of the moments that could’ve been / would’ve been / should’ve been, but weren’t; / your head hurts and / you’re tired and / you want to bleach your skin because you can remember every touch he’s ever made on your body (with his hands / with his lips / with his mind); / i know you’re hurting but / bleach your walls instead, darling / (he’s not the only one you’ll write love songs for)

aquarius: “it’s been so long,“ he says, / “come home,” he tells you / “i miss you” / and you get in your car and you drive down the road but / it’s hard to see anything when the world is hidden under a haze of smoke and a string of memories and / you’re lost; / you think home is where the air smells like the ocean and / the sky is as bright as his eyes are when he’s kissing you but / you don’t remember what that feels like anymore / (he never calls again)

pisces: you fell in love with the artist because you both dreamed in shades of green and misty mountain tops and / you liked the way he ran his paintbrush over your hips / your chest / your thighs, blending trails of dark purples and light browns into / small galaxies on your skin; / “purple means royalty,” he tells you, “brown means strength,” / but he uses your tongue as a punching bag whenever his lips are on yours and that’s when you knew / (loving him wasn’t supposed to hurt)

I came home smelling like rain and cigarette smoke and teenage love and my mother grabbed me and said, “sweetheart, don’t you dare fall in love.”

And I smiled and stuck my hand in my pocket and touched the note you had hidden in my jeans when you touched me, where you said that you were 22 degrees Fahrenheit and I was the sun and I could melt you with my fingertips.

And I came home smelling like vanilla vodka and the lavender flowers you had stuck behind my ear and smudged lipstick and my mother noticed the way your t-shirt hung off me and was on inside out, and the way you made me give it back 2 days later and she brushed my hair out of my eyes and said, “darling, don’t you dare fall in love.”

And I kissed her cheek and tried to put back together the necklace you had bought me last night, the clasp was broken but I twirled the chain around my fingers, they’d still taste like your skin if I put them in my mouth.

And I came home smelling like thunderstorms and fire and breakup songs and cheap vodka that made me throw up and blood and rose thorns and smudged makeup dripping down my face and my mother just looked at me

And three weeks later I met a boy who wasn’t so cold and who let me keep his shirts to sleep in when I missed him and never let anything break, especially my heart.

And I came home every night smelling like everything safe and good and happy, telling myself that I better not dare fall in love. I better not dare fall in love. I better not dare fall in love.

—  aaliyvh

( i ). Ares, please, I’m begging you, don’t take me to war.

( ii ). Do you see these cuts on my lips? They’re from biting back everything I’ve wanted to say- I think I’m afraid that when you kiss me, Ares, you’ll decide you no longer like the taste of blood.

( iii ). You smell of cigarette smoke and broken hearts. I don’t want to know your body count.

( iv ). Please, I don’t want to hear another eulogy. My ears are still ringing from the shrill shell casing sound of your laughter.

( v ). Does it even bother you, dear Ares, that my heart looks more like a graveyard these days?

( vi ). I guess not- you always have found delight in the way your fingertips scar my skin.

( vii ). You say do not be afraid, this love could be a masterpiece. Oh, but dear Ares, beauty is in the eye of the beholder- and I do not see broken bones and bruised ribs as art.

( viii ). Ares, god of destruction, please keep your trigger fingers off me.

—  4.01 I Want Out of This War // m.m.c.

I never liked the taste of peaches, until I tasted them on your lips.
I never liked the texture of beards until
I felt yours on my face.

I never liked the feeling of being happy and alive, until you asked me why I wanted to kill myself.

I never liked talking about myself, until you sat beside me on the bridge that crossed between your apartment and mine. You poked and prodded wanting to know who I am, and what my childhood was like.

I never liked the way cigarettes smelled, until we sat up at 4am smoking until I no longer wanted to die.

I never liked to crave someone until we kissed, and saw that my life will begin and end with you.

—  Xx/365 our first kiss made me like things I’ve always swore I’d hate.
You told me mornings were the best time
to break your own heart. So here I am
smoking your brand of cigarettes for the scent.
I wonder if you still sing Beatles songs
while you make coffee. You said your mother
sang them to you when you couldn’t sleep,
19 years before we met and 20
before you moved your clothes out of our closet
while I was at work. By the way I hate you for leaving
all the photographs on the fridge, taking them down
felt like peeling off new scabs, felt like slapping a sunburn.
I spent so many nights carving your body into pillows
I can promise you nothing feels like sleeping
with your arm slung over me and your breath in my ear.
Still, it’s comforting to know we sleep under the same moon
even if she’s so much older when she gets to me.
I like to imagine she’s seen you sleeping,
and wants me to know you’re doing well.
—  Clementine von Radics
There are over one million words in the English language,
I have been scouring my dictionary for days
trying to make falling out of love sound beautiful,
If I were a poet, I would say that
your betrayal fills my lungs with smoke,
like the cigarettes I keep hidden in my glove box.
I would write a collection of sonnets about
her perfume lingering in the back seat of your car,
and how she reminds me of wildfire- beautiful even in her wake of destruction.
If I were a poet, I would find solace in the truth.
But I am not a poet
and there is nothing beautiful about the way you ripped my heart from it’s home,
or the way you used my hollow chest as a blanket for your infidelity,
I am trying to find a poetic way to say I’m not afraid of you finding my cigarettes anymore,
Blowing smoke in your face as I walk out the door.
There are over a million words in the English language,
Fuck you.
I am not a poet.
—  I Am Not A Poet
-Autumn Stott

notanormalusername  asked:

56, 60, and 78 xoxo

56) what are some things you find endearing in people?

genuine happiness, eye contact and smiles, sense of adventure, writing letters or cards, freckles, bad dance moves, strange trivial knowledge, wearing fun shoes or earrings, crooked smiles, strange tans, bad fashion choices, silver hair, different colored eyes, uneven walks, sad eyes, calling someone dear (in a sincere, non-condescending way), the smell of cigarette smoke, beautiful weathered hands, public hand holding, being ugly beautiful, talking with your hands, being excited about something, dirty nails, the sniffles, really distinguished eyebrows, strange ticks, and warm colored auras., when people visibly love another person, unapologetic uniqueness. but most of all, a great sense of humor/humour. – sorry this was a bit lengthy!

60) do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

yes!!!11!! i love poetry. i try to write, but it ends up being a mess! some of my faves? well, famously, I REALLY enjoy most works by Edgar Poe, Emily Dickinson, Andrea Gibson, and ect.

78) are you in the minion hate club or the fan club? well, the minions are cute to me, but i’m not obsessed or anything.

thanks <3


“It won’t take long babe,” Juice smiled before getting out the car.

You reached to unbuckle your seat belt, “Oh I can do it for you-”

“No, no,” he scurried, “I got it.” He flashed you another smile before taking off.

You watched as he was in and out of the gas station, eyeing the guy having smoke against the small building on his way back.

Nature called and you instantly hopped out right as he began pumping gas.

“Hey, where-”

“Sorry babe,” you rushed, rubbing on your bump, “baby’s right on my bladder.”
You could hear him laughing in the distance.

Keep reading

next to heaven, about 5 meters back from the gated smoking area, is a little kiosk where the man will walk from his shop to deliver snacks or cigarettes or anything you need from his shop to the gated smoking area so your drunk ass doesn’t have to walk all the way around to the front of the club to go all the way back to the smoking area which is so nice and i see people buying cigarettes from him all the time and last night i tried too but DAMN HE KNOWS HE’S GOT PRIME REAL ESTATE HE TRIED TO CHARGE ME 12 QUID (GBP11.90 actually) FOR A TEN PACK OF VOGUES LIKE ARE U FUCKING KIDDING ME SIR. but damn he must get good business cuz theres always people buying from him

“Today is my last day as a teenager and I hope I never forget the way it tastes like biting your tongue and cigarette smoke outside your window and turning the other cheek because you are tired and small and I hope I don’t laugh at the me that fell in love with stars and science just because I could and I hope my poetry will always be shitty but never embarrassing and I hope that I will take teenage me seriously because no adult ever has and all of my words mean something even if I decide to pretend they don’t and I hope I’m always this afraid and wondering and romantic I hope I learn how to swallow liquor without tasting it but never forget what it means to smuggle bottles and mix drinks and hide and celebrate I hope I never become the law that I simply grow older but never really grow up”

I am jealous.
Jealous of the cigarette
burning between your lips.
The way you hold it
between your fingers,
how your mouth locks around it,
while drawing in a breath of smoke.
The clarity in your eyes
after the drag,
as they turn to face me,
like I am their next favorite
thing in the world.
—  Cigarette by Iris