Kris Kidd

“Years from now, I will pass this same park, and I won’t remember any of this.Instead, I will feel something like a spark— a heat like Augustin a suburban town,and a desire to groweven when I know I’ll be cut down.”

“You give the shirt off your back, no questions asked, and you stand alone at the cavernous mouth of your suburban closet—your entire life spent wonderingwhere your clothes went.”

“I haven’t felt the full weightof the world on my shoulders,and I haven’t experienceda fraction of the painand embarrassment I’ve put out into this great bigwhite world.”

“I think it’s pretty common to hold onto people, to bribe them with things, say, a body, in the hopes of keeping them from leaving you. I don’t think it’s uncommon to invert such behaviors, to become something unlovable, in an effort to speed up the process of the inevitable. Fighting is an instinct. So is running. Everybody knows how to destroy a good thing. It’s easy.”

“Sometimes, when I’m chain smoking on the balcony and feeling like shit (which happens more often than I’d like to admit), I let go of a lit cigarette just to see if the ember will outlast the fall.It rarely does.”

“I just want to get away from me.”

“I’ll be too drunk to fight when you ask why I prefer to hurt, so I’ll start hurling stupid phrases like I love you at your naked chest, but no matter what I try, they’ll all sound like cheap threats.”

“I’ve always wanted to be the sort of boy who does the right thing without having to think about it first, the kind of boy who makes his bed every morning and wears his mouth like a vase for words of kindness and simplicity. My agents keep telling me I’m too bruised to play the part. They have no idea how hard it is to make my bed when I’m constantly sleeping in yours, how difficult it is to keep my body from bruising when I’m almost always on my knees, making room in my vase for you, and watching while you text all the boys who are up for the role.”

“My desire to self-destruct is a one-night standon Groundhog Day.Fucking repetitive. Repetitively fucking.”

“And confessions of love have always seemed out of place when you’re gasping for air, when you’re begging for pain,when you’re missing something, unable to change the channel.”

“Crashing through windows I thought were open doors. Apologizing for the mess. Rationalizing my behavior in metaphors you’ll simply never understand. Learning to accept defeat. Watching you walk away from me, from us, from all of this, using every door I missed. Begging, "Please don’t leave me now, I killed those boys to make you love me.”

“It isn’t easy,” is easy to say and sometimes I think that the only thing we can dois say really easy things to each other.”

“My desperation is deliberate. Despondency's a pheromone.”

“And then he’s somewhere inside of me, each thrust rattling my ribcage like a bottle of pills. I’m somewhere outside of myself, thinking about lust— about my slutty white sheets and all the men who like to hide in them.”

“Regret, albeit raw and relentless, is almost always unremarkable.”

“Coming down for the thousandth time, I'm perched on the precipice of a billion broken promises. I'm speeding through the intersections of my own broken heartstrings, blowing red lights and ignoring red flags. I'm thinking, 'history repeats itself.' I'm wondering why. The world outside is still happening also.”

“The homeless dudes on Alameda all have legs any runway model would kill for, and sometimes I think of giving them money, but— I don’t know, I’ve got bills to not pay, and drinks to make people buy for me.”

“I love like a beaten child and I trust like an addict.”

“I want to remember what we were like before we became ourselves.”

“And I guess at the end of the day, you’re just amazed that I can still stand, and I’m just amazed that I can stand still.”