where can i get one of those kim kardashian or paris hilton jobs where they just kind of pay you to exist
I don’t ever want to be a person older than 25
it doesnt matter if the glass is half full or half empty all that matter is if the glass contains vodka
yeah good grades are cool and all but have you ever had a good night sleep
Have you ever noticed that humans have made it so difficult and complicated to “survive” in this world? It’s a vicious cycle. You go to school, and try really hard, so that you can get into a good college, and then you try really hard at college to get a good job, and then you try really hard at your job, so you can make money. And then your kids do the same thing. And everyone just keeps on doing this and no one even stops to think WHY they’re doing it any more. Everyone just does it because it’s what you’re supposed to do. And like, before, when the human race had just started, the goal was to just SURVIVE. People just lived. I mean, that’s what really matters, right? Survival. Because after you die, it doesn’t matter what college you went to.
Despite what you’ve read, your sadness is not beautiful. No one will see you in the bookstore, curled up with your Bukowski, and want to save you.
for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare,
for an end to your sadness in Keats.
He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived.
Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world.
Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth.
Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.
I do all the things you used to hate. I dye my hair colors that make the church ladies stare. I go to bed without dinner and subside entirely on air. I make tea and pour cream in after. I give up reading. I give up The Beatles. I never eat another plate of scrambled eggs. I shape myself into someone you would dislike. My speech sharpens. My teeth turn to fangs. I let go of the softness that drew you to me. My fingernails itch to become claws and I don’t fight it. This is what it takes to survive. I let people into my bed that I would have walked right past with you. He is sad-eyed and needs my flimsy paper wrists to support him. I pour every late night with you into him, until he says, ‘I love you, I love you’ and I say, ‘Shh, you’ll ruin the fun.’ I do what it takes to forget you, and at the end, have more bruises than the ones I started with, but I can finally look at a sunset and not feel anything at all.
I Practice Death To Forget You | Lora Mathis (via soggypoetry)
my dance style ranges from white dad at a barbecue to stripper whose rent is due tomorrow
I don’t think Florida’s even a real place anymore.
im always suspicious of anyone that finds me attractive
i need to be like 12x hotter than i am now
id rather fall in lava than fall in love