Friday, August 29, 2014
vurtual:

Do Not Piss Daddy Off (by Alexander Yates)

vurtual:

Do Not Piss Daddy Off (by Alexander Yates)

addisonp22:

thosewerethedroidsiwaslookingfor:

word

I thought it was just 00—-0-000-0-000-0000-0-0-0-0-0000-0-00-000-000-000-00-0-0-0-0-000-000-00-0-000-000-0-0-000-00-00-0-0-0—-000-0-0-0-1bend-0-0-0-0-0-0—00-0-0-0-0-0-0-000-000-000-000-000-000-0

addisonp22:

thosewerethedroidsiwaslookingfor:

word

I thought it was just 00—-0-000-0-000-0000-0-0-0-0-0000-0-00-000-000-000-00-0-0-0-0-000-000-00-0-000-000-0-0-000-00-00-0-0-0—-000-0-0-0-1bend-0-0-0-0-0-0—00-0-0-0-0-0-0-000-000-000-000-000-000-0

(Source: silver-haze)


x
Thursday, August 28, 2014

(Source: lemonstops)

Lately, I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and who I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be… and when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this: Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe. Andrea Gibson  (via wiltedbones)

(Source: theunquotables)

You sit there in your heartache
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
To save you from your old ways

(Source: geneticandunattainable)

Wednesday, August 27, 2014
find-amycordon:

AMY CORDON, a 14 year old girl, just went missing on TUESDAY, 1PM, AUGUST 19, 2014 please share the news! THIS IS IMPORTANT. She’s 14 years old. Please, please reblog this. If you find her, call:
(914) 377-7900- THE POLICE
(914) 295-7169- HER SISTER
please, reblog.

find-amycordon:

AMY CORDON, a 14 year old girl, just went missing on TUESDAY, 1PMAUGUST 19, 2014 please share the news! THIS IS IMPORTANT. She’s 14 years old. Please, please reblog this. If you find her, call:

  • (914) 377-7900- THE POLICE
  • (914) 295-7169- HER SISTER

please, reblog.

(Source: brisklynj)

When he says
He doesn’t love you anymore,
Roll your shoulders back
And look him in the eye
Even when it feels like your ribs
Are breaking inward, like spider legs.
When he digs up old aches
That he swore he forgave you for,
Smile
And ask him why he didn’t leave you sooner.
Ignore the way the words feel like sandpaper
Running all the way up your throat to your mouth.
When he blames you
For mistakes that wear his face,
Do not scream.
Do not cry.
Tell him that there are boys
Who would be proud to say they’d loved you.
Tell him that in two years
You won’t even remember his name
And don’t let him see the way you can taste your own lie.
When he leaves
Ignore the howling in your blood
And do not get up after him.
Not even to lock the door.
Do not, do not
Do not.
Smell his shirts when you box them up
To give them back.
Not one.
Swear off dating when you realize
You’re chasing ghosts that wear his smile.
It’s okay to cry over him.
It’s even okay to forgive him.
But do not go back to him.
If he did not know how to love you the first time,
He won’t know how to do it the next.
How To Pretend It Doesn’t Hurt, by Ashe Vernon  (via 1811181)

(Source: latenightcornerstore)

k17l53:

sugar-soul:



Thanks satan.

k17l53:

sugar-soul:

image

Thanks satan.

(Source: jimmy-the-satanist)

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

(Source: emilee-cheer)

Until I started taking my antidepressants, though, I didn’t actually know that I was depressed. I thought the dark staticky corners were part of who I was. It was the same way I felt before I put on my first pair of glasses at age 14 and suddenly realized that trees weren’t green blobs but intricate filigrees of thousands of individual leaves; I hadn’t known, before, that I couldn’t see the leaves, because I didn’t realize that seeing leaves was a possibility at all. And it wasn’t until I started using tools to counterbalance my depression that I even realized there was depression there to need counterbalancing. I had no idea that not everyone felt the gravitational pull of nothingness, the ongoing, slow-as-molasses feeling of melting down into a lump of clay. I had no way of knowing that what I thought were just my ingrained bad habits — not being able to deposit checks on time, not replying to totally pleasant emails for long enough that friendships were ruined, having silent meltdowns over getting dressed in the morning, even not going to the bathroom despite really, really, really having to pee — weren’t actually my habits at all. They were the habits of depression, which whoa, holy shit, it turns out I had a raging case of. Not Everyone Feels This Way — The Archipelago — Medium (via brutereason)