(via aubzillatron)
hello, i'm writing something about myself.
Rush of the Moustache
Rub the sleep from your eyes
with fingernails clawing,
scratching marks down your face
physical blemishes of an unearthly pain
And the world -right now- smells of a place that I have been once before.
This air, these surroundings, fill you until you swim (drown) in the overwhelming nostalgia of it all. Kicking off the bottom of your world, trying to break through the surface of your own being
with smoke so thick and scents so strong that never again will your thoughts be clear of these memories,
moments
and stories
