Cop. Carpenter. Jitsuka. Weight lifter. Traditionalist. Texan. Follow me for the various opinions, pictures, and rants inherent in the life of a gun toting, meat eating, beer drinking, womanizing, ass kicking gentleman living in a world of crybaby, vegan, pussy footing, politically correct, entitled sheep. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll think, but mostly, you'll probably be offended.
Every conversation is good, but not quite good enough. That awkward silence will still linger every now and then. Everything I say comes from an insanely difficult internal struggle between not revealing just how much I really care, and wanting to snap my fingers and make every one of her struggles go away. We both compete to care the least but I can’t help it, I fuckin love this person. I am losing my grip on my control of this situation and will soon again be at the mercy of a pretty face. Initially feeling like I could still love someone was an exciting feeling, but now the hurt hasn’t even come and I feel apprehensive, anxious, even a little scared. She dominates my thoughts with feelings of hope, but also with that feeling of impending heartbreak. I hate being vulnerable, I hate losing control, I hate putting myself at someone’s mercy. I wish I could turn my feelings off.
My list of skills include never learning my lesson, acting surprised when history repeats itself, and remembering lyrics to songs I haven’t heard in years.
I don’t care for your sweet scent
Or the way you want me
More than I want you.
Archers in your arches
Raise your fingers for one last salute
I’ll bleed this skyline dry
Your history is mine.
Funeral For a Friend
You Me at Six