I’m actually withering away to nothing. Oh well. 



do you have those memories that are really cringey and you never speak of and something triggers the memory and you want to fucking wash your brain out with bleach


(Source: littlexiutie, via mkp-tricia)

Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.

You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.

You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.

You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.

Some things are better left unsaid (via cactus lungs)

(Source: poppyflowerpoetry, via lefiguier)

You should be with somebody who makes you forget what it felt like to be sad.

(via leviathanrose)

Is that even a real possible thing?

(Source: the-taintedtruth, via mkp-tricia)

I stopped going to therapy because I knew my therapist was right and I wanted to keep being wrong. I wanted to keep my bad habits like charms on a bracelet. I did not want to be brave. I think I like my brain best in a bar fight with my heart. I think I like myself a little broken. I’m ok if that makes me less loved. I like poetry better than therapy anyway. The poems never judge me for healing wrong.
Clementine von Radics  (via mirroir)

(Source: clementinevonradics, via lefiguier)


72 Degrees in the shade.
The Animated Self Portrait 
T.S Abe


Throwback to the last good day
I hope this will be my future husband and I