If I’m gonna be anything the thing I’m gonna be is a bad ass.
19-o1:

Preeaaaachhhhhh
I don’t understand why sex is more shocking than violence.

black-frostbite:

shubbabang:

I know I’m not the only one who does this but you know when you have this like boundary around you when you’re sitting at a table or a desk that only you are allowed to be in 

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And then someone or something that isn’t yours

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gets in that space

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and you just

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Holy fuck finally someone who understands

(via guy)

Come lay with me. I wanna talk about nothing with someone that means something.

zemmer:

more benefits to being a cat

  • loved at any weight
  • its not weird if you’re awake in the middle of the night
  • people believe you when you say the gender of a cat no matter what it looks like
  • no one judges you for not showering or leaving the house
  • you can just leave in the middle of an interaction
  • no deadlines or bills
  • not expected to wear clothing
  • not cold if naked
  • if you do wear clothing you will be considered 500% cute no matter what
  • cute whiskers
  • tail
  • super flexible

(Source: actualanimevillain, via darrynmicheal)

vehxt:

glowist:

green-shoot:

billowy:

makes me feel some type of way

I’d love nothing more than to be there with you

reminds me of 1984

I want to do this

I keep writing about you. They tell me my words are beautiful. I don’t know why. Maybe because they’re written for you. You’re beautiful but what they don’t know—what you don’t know—is I stare at this blank fucking paper and all I feel is rage anger and frustration because I write down these things and it never comes close to what I feel. If actions could be translated into words, I would write me shouting in my fucking car because your favorite song came up on my god damned pandora station again. I would write me standing in the shower while the scolding water burns my skin as I try to think of the exact moment I lost you. Then I would write me shutting off the water in total defeat because I realized I never even had you. I would write how a fire starts in my chest whenever I see a picture of you and her. I’ve never envied a stranger so much before. I would write how my eyes burn as I continue to stare at the god damned ceiling at 3am missing you. Being up that late was only fun when you were around.
I wish you were still around.
I don’t even know how to fucking end this. There’s no poetic way to say I feel like fucking shit.
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