Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I’ll choke you with the same hand I fed you with.
By Anonymous (via levi-has-the-booty)

(via infra-redd)



I’m in the mood for digging a hole and bury myself in it.

In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses.
By Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies  (via ablogwithaview)

(Source: seabois, via disney--eyes)

You have no responsibility to live up to what other people think you ought to accomplish. I have no responsibility to be like they expect me to be. It’s their mistake, not my failing.
By Richard P. Feynman (via sundaylatte)

(Source: pressured, via flawedsanity)

I gave wrong people the right pieces of me.
By (via jakuzarskey)

(via fragile--flower)



Nothing scars you more than the negative shit your own parents tell you.

(via fragile--flower)

Because lying to your kids about sex helps nobody. Telling them that sex is “only between mommies and daddies” is a lie that leads to confused, hormone charged teenagers. Telling them that sex is “only something that happens when two people love each other very much” is a lie that causes hormone charged teenagers to confuse “love” with “lust,” or “obsession.” It leads to leaps of logic like, “If I have sex with them, we must be in love.” Or worse- “If I love them, I have to have sex with them.” And how many teenage tragedies are based on that misconception?
By Lea Grover, "We Don’t Play With Our Vulvas At The Table" (via themindislimitless)

(via fragile--flower)

Sometimes when I’m alone
in a dark room of a silent house,
I reach for the fire you once lit in me
but all I feel is the dampness of
the ashes after you put me out
and I have tried lighting cigarettes
and downing burning whiskey
to ignite your old embers but
I am still so cold, waiting for you
to come home and set fire to me again.
By We were a roaring fire but my tears extinguished my heart (via ink-trails)
I never understood how some writers could manage
to break my heart within the length of a few pages
but then I met you and realized that pain isn’t
determined by how many words are written but
rather how many words aren’t there because
I threw away all my ‘I love you’s’ but all I got back
was silence and that is worse than an unhappy ending
since you didn’t even think I was worth a start.
By A Commitment Within the Pages (via ink-trails)
I refuse to be your second choice.
Not when you were my first.
Not when I didn’t even have a choice.
By (via thoseconstellations)
Never, never tell them. Try and remember that. Never tell anyone anything ever. Never tell anyone anything again.
By Ernest Hemingway, from The Garden Of Eden (via violentwavesofemotion)