Eat shit and die, whore.

“I wish I knew the right words to say when it came down to writing about someone who makes you feel like flowers are growing inside of your chest. I wish I knew how to explain the way you make me feel when it’s two in the morning and we’re both laughing over something that probably wasn’t even that funny but to other people, our laughs make it seem like it was the world. I wish I knew how to tell people just how really beautiful you are, because when you are there, whether you’re laying down or pacing back and fourth, talking about the things that excite you the most, or just about anything in general that makes you happy, your eyes hold a certain kind of light beneath them that makes me want to never look away. Or when you laugh, my god, when you laugh, I never want it to stop because you do this thing where you tilt your head back and cover your mouth at the last moment after you already been so loud, shaking your head and every single time, I’d think, I wouldn’t mind hearing you laugh for the rest of my life. And when you yell, which is very rare, is scary because you can be there, veins standing at attention and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on, even if I’m driving you insane. Don’t worry though, you drive me insane too. And I wish I knew how to explain the way my hands shake when I think about losing you, or the way my chest tightens to the thought of you being with someone else who isn’t me, because it messes with my mind sometimes and I get fustrated, because only I want to know your favorite book to the way you hate wearing that poka dot shirt, or how you eat when you’re nervous and can’t seem to stop making a mess. But you always been a messy eater so I don’t mind. I fell in love with you and although you are not perfect because you do have your moments, I promise I will love you again and again and again because I am not perfect either but if I am here, holding my heart out to you, and you are there, doing the same, I swear we both can be non-perfect messes together. And I’m trying not to be too cheesy here, because you always did say I buttered you up too much so for now I’ll leave it off with an I love you and an I’ll love you forever until my very last breath and an I am so lucky you decided to choose me.”

“He was so easy to love. He made you feel safe. When he held your hand it was like you were flying. He made crossing the road feel like an adventure; with his hand on the small of your back. He laughed at things easily, he was soft, gentle, kind. He understood when you were quiet, when you were loud. He listened. He listened to your words, and he listened to your silence. “Come here,” he would say, with his arms open wide, and you would go. “Stay,” he would beg, and you would stay and you would stay and you would stay.”

DEAR GOD THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE TUMBLR POSTS IN EXISTENCE.

I want to tell you over and over again how much you mean to me, but every time I try I always feel like I am repeating myself. That I can never find anything new to say to explain how much I love you. It’s always the same words again and again. And I hope that’s enough for you. I hope my repeated words are enough to reassure you that you are all I need.

You never loved me. You just moved your feelings from her to me. And now you’re moving them back to her after she destroyed you. She’s going to hurt you again but I won’t be there for you this time. I’m trying to not see your goodbye as a stab in the back. I hope you find the happiness I couldn’t give you. Maybe she’ll let you do more things to her then I did. So don’t you dare tell me you love me and that you can’t live without me. The second you left you were already happy. And it hurts because you made it look so easy. I never really mattered to you. I was only there so you could get over her. You never loved me. You lied to me over and over again. You don’t destroy the ones you love. Hope you realize one day just how much you put me through.

Within the chaos of my mind, I find my peace.

Halsey’s lyrics tend to lean on more impressionistic imagery, and the narrative themes at least in Badlands tend to divorce themselves from a sense of time—in Halsey’s music, everything happens all at once, and it never happens, and events repeat themselves recursively.

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