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Mpdg
Ashley:
Je veux etre votre tout.

thoselonelyeyes:

fullmoon-unicorn:

the starry sky on the himalayas

CLICK ON THE PIC BRO

Les nuits quand j’ai besoin quelqu’un mais je n’ai pas quelqu’un sont les nuits que me fait fort.

amoying:

human: :(

dog: :D

human: :D

(via thetowndrugdealer)

Je ne voulais même pas le cœur vous avez cassé.

Everytime I get sad about this thing
(About the decisions I made)
((About how they should have been different))
(((but they couldn’t have been any different)))
I go to my car & get high & then I’m not sad about it.

Daisy chain season

THEORIES ABOUT THE UNIVERSE



I am trying to see things in perspective.
My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter
chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot
have this, because chocolate makes dogs
very sick. My dog does not understand this.
She pouts and wraps herself around my leg
like a scarf and purrs and tries to convince me
to give her just a tiny bit. When I do not give in,
she eventually gives up and lays in the corner,
under the piano, drooping and sad. I hope the
universe has my best interest in mind like I have
my dogs. When I want something with my whole
being, and the universe withholds it from me,
I hope the universe thinks to herself: "Silly girl.
She thinks this is what she wants, but she
does not understand how it will hurt.

— THEORIES ABOUT THE UNIVERSE by Blythe Baird  (via thewastedgeneration)

(Source: blythebrooklyn, via thetowndrugdealer)


fakeyouout:

“money doesn’t buy happiness”

let me test this hypothesis

(Source: whiteboyfriend, via thedailylaughs)

I am sorry for filling you with beer and bad thoughts and then asking you why you shook. I am sorry for pinching you, for hitting you, for bruising the thin-skinned parts of you. I am sorry for the names I called you when we were fighting. You are not ugly. You are not useless. You would not be better off gone. I’m sorry for almost throwing you out into the street because my sadness was too much for me. I’m sorry for carving my fingernails into your thigh and then resenting the way people asked, “How’d that happen?” I’m sorry for plucking you and knicking your calves with drugstore razors. I’m sorry I let some people see you in the moonlight. They didn’t deserve to know the color of your hips like I do. I’m sorry for leaving you convulsing over a toilet bowl over some boy. I’m sorry I did not thank you for simply trying to take me where I wanted to go. I’m sorry I screamed at you to shrink, shrink, shrink when all you could do was grow. I’m sorry that this apology is ten years too late. I’m sorry that it will probably come again. I’m sorry that I do not treat anybody else as poorly as I have treated you. I’m sorry that I am constantly learning how to love you, when you have never once doubted how you feel about me. I’m sorry in ways this poem cannot say.
— Lora Mathis, “An Apology to My Body”  (via literatureandcigarettes)

This is so real.

(Source: lora-mathis, via literatureandcigarettes)


shypale:

-                                                      
Here is an amateur drawing of my dream last night. 
Basically I had a dream that I was looking at Sacre Cœur from a distance and it was extremely bright, like the white of the church was shed upon all the surroundings, but a large, thick dark black cloud appeared from the west & was infecting all the light.
It was wretched.