Amp up the revelation

You are my favorite destination

Past and present no referendum

Hold me back don’t let me let them

Keep me

From you.


I had this dream about you the other night. We kept fighting our same old fight, the one I’m afraid of, the one we’ve never had.

The fight where you forget and obliterate me

The fight where I leave and you feel left bleeding

But I was too you fucker.

In fact, you never even arrived.

Just ignored me from the other side.

How could you? Taunt me with your strength, your trust, your lust, your faith?

I want it all so bad now,

This lively being you’ve set up in your place, with words, and goodness, all fiction.

I should just forget it.

The problem is,

Will you?

Because I’m pretty sure you’re too self serving to even make the attempt.


MBTI: The Types (of Types) of Heroes

I love this post so much. I want to keep it in my stranglehold while I sleep at night. Love it.

Zombies Ruin Everything


A few weeks ago, we did a podcast for our Top 5 Heroes. If you haven’t listened to it, correct your mistake! If you listened to it and couldn’t understand one of us, well, that host has since been shot and tossed into a ditch. Anyway. What are, generally, the best ways you can tell what kind of hero is which type? Some of the best written examples can be the most confusing to enthusiasts because they defy stereotypes which is normally what you could go off of.

This is a quick guide to about half the MBTI-related articles you’ve seen here.

Keep in mind, these are heroes, not villains.

*Additions made to the INTJ heroes section on 5/4/2015

View original post 2,572 more words

I know nothing, but, I’m still elated.

The urge to tell you that I love you is beyond reason. I can’t help but wonder if I really do.

Or if, I just have this urge. I have it in similar tones for other ways of my life.

But in you, the urge faces ambiguities so vast, it knows that it is probably not love.

Tempered and trusted, it tries even harder to back away, to release all doubt, but it finds this hard. Who are you?

Do you have an urge, a similar dream holding the leash where the collar closes around your sternum?

Do you trip over the lead when you run? When have you ever just inspected its resistance to slower speeds?

Does it ever occur to you to bother with what remains after your actions, the imposed reliance, the figured out anomalies?

I can for sure say that you know nothing, not everything at all. Truth is a flattering concept, to the starving urges of our minds, but it’s supple eyes and witty complexion is not so true. No matter it’s opinion.

Or yours, for that matter, or mine. We all just ogle the mannerisms of that informality anyway, and hope for results.

Who’s despondent lecture then, will we amount to be brave enough to question once we all confound these reasons? When? Will we never forget that our remnants are never sought for by the lack of urge?

We are all curious, we all know this. So why try and lie so inconspicuously, then?We know there’s no reason to.

Fuck You, Dad.

I will never be like him.

I don’t want to, I don’t need to.

He was the evil he still is.

He burns my throat like pills:

The fabric he rips open leads to frills,

Open heart surgery at best,

I don’t have his disease

Just because our humors are similar,

Our mannerisms,

Our hobbies,

Our difficulties are similar.

I won’t be the sick joke I’m afraid to tell him.

I won’t live in the hell he lives in.


I wonder how long I’ve lived so lacking.

Of the metal in my blood.

The metal that a woman was once named,

Who lifted a nation brisk and poised.

Dearly, has it made me this weakness?

Has my stress of strength been my own proposal

Of doubt?

How do you favor so much further and

Brighter, so clean and conspicuous,

So feeble and wasted on your own arrogance?

Why can’t I have that chastised heart,

That ample love undone?

You walk and you wait,

The iron in your veins.

And not in mine.


The wires in your skin are so taut.

I could make music

If I tried.

Your words charmingly burn my

Finger petals,

Harmless roses, paralyzed.

Whether you fathom me or not,

I’m aware of

The ill will that you’ve got

Fermenating in the still

Above your lips.

I hate

The idea of becoming addicted to

That slop.

Watching porcelain crack;

Feeling every day like a frayed relapse.

I’m not alone in the weird game,

I’m fighting all of my own pain.


Let myself and its abhorrent idealism go.

I’ll be thankful once I know

A world beyond you.