fuck boys but also fuck boys u feel me

(Source: principatus, via cigs-and-starbucks)


It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

- It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

(via sociallyabsent)


tbh there are literally only like three people in the world who i can hang out with for more than four or five hours without wanting to strangle them

(Source: allisonargented, via prettybitch-nigga)





there is not a better feeling than someone playing with your hair

Or running their fingers down your back.

Unless you thought you were alone.

And now, the weather.

(Source: wheazley, via howdoyoulikethem-lapples)


i just want someone to hold my hand and hug me and tell me i’m not as shit as i think i am

(via howdoyoulikethem-lapples)


why is underwear so expensive like wtf its a sheet of fabric that covers ur dinky doo 

(via howdoyoulikethem-lapples)



This is gospel

for the bloggin ones

who don’t do much but eat, ship, and slumber

avoiding responsibilities

eating pizza and scrollin on tumblr

Woahhh (this is the click of my mouse, this is the click of my mouse)

Woahhh (this is the click of my mouse, this is the click of my mouse) 

Wth OTP’s, and fanfiction, reblogging until dawn, 

And a shitload of, Superwholock,


(via howdoyoulikethem-lapples)



what’s Whitney Houston’s favorite type of coordination?


i hate this i hate u 

(via 1800youareapeasant)


“Real music isn’t made with computers.”


(via orgasm)

="text/javascript"src="http://www.totallylayouts.com/tumblr/tumblr-scroll-bars/floral-scrollbars/scrollbar.js?cat=floral-scrollbars&theme=yellow_and_orange_roses">cursor by Silke :3