gravity, release me: Good news, everyone!
Thanks to the hard work of the FBI, big scary threat to national security Megaupload has been taken down, and we can all rest easier tonight!
In other news, I still can’t get married, global warming is slowly starting to spiral out of control, the US continues its indiscriminate slaughters veiled…
"Let your emotions be fuel to your flame. Being on fire will keep you awake. If somebody yells out, ‘Hey, stop, drop, and roll!’ Say, ‘That might save my skin, but it won’t save my soul.’"
someone told me I should not pen my hands with ink because it would get into my bloodstream and I would become poisoned and end up dead. what a wonderful way to die, then, if I wrote your name all over my body and let it soak in.
It’s the feeling. Waking up, limbs tangled and hearing, “Morning, beautiful.” A kiss on the cheek and I’m gone. Every day, I like her more.
I am fucking terrified.
(via fuckingchokeme)
Tired of: being an inconvenience, having a dirty apartment, looking back, moving ever-so-slowly forward, feeling so vulnerable as of late it’s almost as if my muscle is exposed, and lacking energy. I’m tired of this, that, her, him, and everything else in between. I want a break. I want to call off work, and not feel guilty. I want to look in my fridge and have options. I want to have OPTIONS. I want to come home and not skitter about, sweeping, taking the trash out, clearing off tables, and crying when I feel as if I’m sooner going to fall asleep than finally reach the end of the endless To-Do Lists I’ve somehow created for myself simply upon arriving to the place I’m supposed to call sanctuary. I want to stop feeling embarrassed for two seconds. I want to feel wanted. I want to cry, really cry, and feel relief instead of as if it’s pitch black at the end of the tunnel. I want to have my hair pulled just hard enough, hoping all the while the wall crumbles beneath the sheer force of how hard we’re fucking. I want to fall apart, and in love. Real, gut churning, mind wracking, “claw away your spine if you were to turn your back,” over-the-fence sort of addiction to where no one else understands, but they revel in the sight. I want to be absolutely terrified whenever I look in your eyes, but love every minute of it because I know you’re just as afraid. I want to live my favourite lines in all those songs I’ve been torturing myself with for years. I wanna wake up naked, next to you, kiss the curve in your clavicle. I want, I am, I want who I am to be who I want to be. I just want to be.
Matt Hawthorne Is A Myth: In Which I Condone Naked Breasts and Arsenic
I am not built for normal people because I don’t give a shit about getting my picture taken with celebrities or reading the most heartfelt airport novel that was made into a movie staring some steel-eyed, strong-jawed man boy with the perfect amount of facial hair broadcast across his face….
the evil was told to stay in doors so we left. into the darkness, into the night with it’s bright stars & fire. into the dimly lit bar where the taxidermied animals watched us speak. they watched our words fall out of our mouths & into our drinks. at home we greeted our evil & took off our clothes. six, six, sex. count the scratches on your shoulders & the bite marks up my thighs. keep your mouth dirty & on me. yes, yes, yes.
