poem scene

Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.

.the world falls away.

          .the past and the present.

.blend together.

          .there is just you and me.

.and this empty place.

         .in this quiet moment.

.that belongs.

          .only to us.

.to you and to me.

          .and our future.

.looks amazing.

Ay, the pain it costs me
to love you as I love you!

For love of you, the air, it hurts,
and my heart,
and my hat, they hurt me.

Who would buy it from me,
this ribbon I am holding,
and this sadness of cotton,
white, for making handkerchiefs with?

Ay, the pain it costs me
to love you as I love you!

—  García Lorca, It’s True
Move on, leave, run away, escape this place… but don’t forget about me, about us, about this town. Always remember where you come from so you can appreciate how far you’ve come.
—  c.j.n.

“Look at me and tell me you don’t love me anymore!” He said fiercely, with his hands gripping at my shoulders and shaking me.

“I don’t need to! I don’t love you anymore!” I said. Breaking my way out of his grip.

“If you don’t love me anymore, you can tell me that straight into my eyes.” He said with a tease and letting his arms fall down to his sides.

I step back away from him and said

“I knew you didn’t love me anymore when you decided to kiss her behind my back.” I waited for his response for seconds before walking away.

But, I paused. I gave him a last look and said, “I don’t need to look at you, you disgust me.”

—  S.L // Other ways of knowing you don’t love them anymore

SLAM.. poetry.



Waving my HANDS a LOT.

Specific point of view on things!



Jesus died… for our CYN-thia’s

Jesus cried, runaway bride.


Julia ROB…… hurts.



You’re dead!

You are dead!

BA boo beep! Bap bap boo bap! 

You’re DEAD!

- A poem for Cynthia, who’s dead - 

Doug McQuaid

You claim to love her, inside and out, but the only time you call her beautiful is when it’s 3 in the morning and I’ve already turned you down.
—  girls tell each other everything, c.j.n.

The last 30 seconds of Jake’s Instagram live stream last night! Nothing of significance happens, although you might especially enjoy him waving to a person at the table. I just thought that people who did not get a chance to watch it might find it interesting. I myself managed to catch around 20 more seconds than you.

My phone ran out of storage not one second after it ended, which cut off my surprised “…oh, okay then”. Dude didn’t even say bye.

If Jake does another live Insta stream, I’ll do my best to record it, just shout at me real hard :)


I especially updated my Instagram to the new icon to watch this.

I caught the last 50 seconds.

Now I’m stuck with the newest version of Instagram.

- An sad autobiographical poem


Barry & Caitlin aka adorable puppies, being the terrible liars of the group. a poem. sorta.

This scene was tremendously hilarious and awkward that it’s so delicious! Haha it’s a wonder if people can’t tell that they’re lying…at least Ronnie and Joe weren’t that fidgety but these two are certified terrible liars with their similar shifty and fidgety expressions and actions. xD Bonus:

Looking back, I can’t remember the truth. I blew everything out of proportion so I could feel the hurt and betrayal and write about it in vivid detail. It was my own method of torture. My own undoing; and I enjoyed every second of it.
—  c.j.n.