(Source: waybad, via bry-caby)

Urgh, Eva Green circa The Dreamers is the hottest thing. I hate you so much. 

Urgh, Eva Green circa The Dreamers is the hottest thing. I hate you so much. 

(Source: blahblahblahpunkrock)

I probably follow too many porn blogs for someone whose computer shares a desk with her father’s. 

How is it that Asian girls can wear crazy things whenever they want but the second I wear black socks I get pistol whipped by half the world?

Why does no one ever talk about this unfairness?

(Source: matthew-williamson, via mariecalloway)

Mauerbauertraurigkeit

dictionaryofobscuresorrows:

n. the inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like—as if all your social tastebuds suddenly went numb, leaving you unable to distinguish cheap politeness from the taste of genuine affection, unable to recognize its subtle and ambiguous flavors, its long and delicate maturation, or the simple fact that each tasting is double-blind.

(via kadehydrated)

I wanted to write you an apology, a proper one with rhythm and purpose,
One you couldn’t possibly refute, like scientific proof that I am sorry,
And I wanted to write each line on a plate with a different kind of food - blueberries and bacon and banana slices -
But I don’t have that much food and you probably wouldn’t open the pictures anyway.

I wanted to write you a blog post and leave you clues to it through the various social networking platforms we share,
One that would explain everything in beautiful detail and you’d fall in love with me instead of being mad,
And I wanted to write it all in second person because I don’t think that’s done enough and I could totally pull it off,
But you’ve probably unfriended and unfollowed me so it would be pointless.

I wanted to write you a poem with a structure and adequate imagery,
One that would at least get you to text me, even if it’s something mean,
And I wanted to write it so it sounded like the sea coming in, going out, bearing down,
And I wanted it to sound like fingers hitting keys or rain hitting the roof or something pretty hitting something else,
And I wanted you to see it and forgive me so I could go to the gig on the weekend with you,
But then I remembered how you said you hated the word ‘gig’ and it made me cry even though I’m not allowed to because this is my fault,
And I just wanted to say sorry.  

"There will always be something missing."

"There will always be something missing."

(Source: , via bry-caby)

Real pain is getting
A cardboard cut while, loudly,
One Direction plays.

It seems like The Walking Dead would have lasted for four or five episodes tops if those fuckers had just built a goddam moat. 

Zombies can’t swim. Literally everyone knows that.