Galaxies Full of Nobodies.

i want a verb and you give me a noun. what do you dream up while i tongue you down?
Ask | Archive | RSS
There are days that I cannot find the sun even though its right outside my goddamn window.
Neil Hilborn, “This is Not the End of the World”
(via comateuxx)

(Source: beba-s, via theproserpina)

+ 70,551 notes

(Source: ms-moretz, via gleeson666)

+ 384,108 notes

(Source: slaughteringbunnies, via gleeson666)

+ 553 notes


you kids these days with your rapidly growing concern for the state of the world and your knowledge of important issues at increasingly younger ages despite having been told your opinions don’t matter by the adults who put you in these situations

(via deathtraders)

+ 313,983 notes

Bitter Sweet Love by Michael Faudet
Follow him here


Bitter Sweet Love by Michael Faudet

Follow him here

(via langleav)

+ 40,647 notes

(Source: everybodylovesboobs, via the-underlings)

+ 24,398 notes

(Source: aristotlewearsversace, via tearyourworldapart)

+ 151,186 notes

(Source: ehxisted, via stfumadison)

+ 208,660 notes
The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person.
Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters (via kushandwizdom)

(via daddyfuckedme)

+ 3,676 notes
Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, “Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.

Kait Rokowski (A Good Day)

"Depression is a good lover"

(via loveandddrevenge)


(via swallowmewhole)

(Source: justsingyourlifeaway, via stfumadison)

+ 216,751 notes

theme by: behindtrees customized by: datsraces