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OMG GUYS!!!!!!!
sumtimez,
when i iz alones
i lyk 2 lissen to beiber
i has da feva
dat is funny!!!!!
also
mah gf is dumb :*
or iz she???? :/
i wil nevr kno
no or kno???? i dont no!!!
release da kraken!!!
wha crackalackin
das it
peace and kissies,
daniel david gabriel williamson the somethingth
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Of course it is, ask-box Anon!
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Dear ask box person,
but who aaarreee you? Facebook inbox me? E-mail me? I don’t even currr!
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please stay on tumblr forever okay bye
sonofaseaturtle.tumblr.com
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Text an old friend. They'll remember the person you used to be.
by AnonymousI have a lot of old friends, unfortunately. I’d like to text you though.
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Hey there, Tumblr. It’s been a while.
Sigmund Freud claimed that dreams were a manifestation of a troubled subconscious, and I kind of buy that. Well I’ve had this recurring dream recently where I’ll take off and drive somewhere, and I’ll get lost on my way, either there or back. Am I lost, like, IRL? Honesty: over the last year+ I’ve lost all remnants of a true identity. Now more than ever, being back at Jesuit, I don’t know who I am. I kind of got this reinforced by the slap in the face provided by a 65 on my first major paper. I used to KILL English papers. Now I hardly know how to write one. I don’t have the grades, I don’t have the athletics, and I don’t have the drugs. Who am I? You decide. Then let me know!
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A Boy Who Cried Wolf
Two devils with tongues cut as sharp as knives,
fight fire a plague to bring me demise.
New children and mothers and places unknown,
live dying to see who is cut to the bone.
Fake lovers, true prophets and faces ethereal,
steal glances away when my will is repealed.
And though I don’t know you, I’ll say that I did,
to bring truth to the lies you told as a kid.
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The gates of hell will open wide,
and you will peek and peer inside,
and you will see what you don’t know,
and what you see shall set you free,
and you will live forevermore,
longing to fly;
but in death, you will soar.
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The Weekend Smile.
Writhing around in another’s bed,
while your thoughts swirl around in your best friend’s head.
Thoughts that never really were your own,
thoughts that you think while your dance partner moans.
What an inappropriate time to think these thoughts,
not like last night;
head on the concrete,
mind grasping clouds,
wisps that escape and evade and arouse…
And blindside you the next day when you shouldn’t be thinking,
about anything but drinking,
the clouds away.
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Without a conscience, you will burn.
Without a sliver of hope, you’ll yearn, for the starry nights to kiss you once more…I’m gay. But not really.
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What’s your favorite part of dying?
Decomposing slowly, crying? Is it that you know that your parents were lying, that all good things must end?
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I’ll stick around to see this through,
to see big brown eyes meet baby blues.
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It’s 12 o’clock and I’m breathing,
just now knowing what it means to be set free.
I'm a psycho. Wo-ah.
I like facial hair, and songs, and writing, and pictures, and expressing my ever -growing angst through interpretive dance.
