Sounds about right.



(Source: capitalismofficial)

A Poem, or something like that. (That’s the name of it)

We sat on those stairs looking up at stars, passing cars, 20 somethings in Silverlake hipster bars, we were never meant to live this far, kill me, just kill me. Drunk high school friends eating chinese takeout reminds me of being 17, we were so pop punk hating our town, our families, our lives. Lets sit a little longer on this mile long staircase and watch the sky turn into a bullshit pretty color that I could of written poetically, but it’s not suppose to be, It’s just a sky, we’re just young adults, and this is just a cryptic grouping of words, and even with that you’ll find meaning in my pretentious rambling of nothing. I’m not fond of pretty words, there’s nothing genuine about masking your ugly thoughts with graceful words. Here we are, sitting on stairs, looking up at… something. This is it, this is all of me, this is all i’ll ever be.

I’m okay with this.