sexualremarks:

WHY DO PARENTS ALWAYS RUIN YOUR DAY AND THEN ACT LIKE THEY DIDNT RUIN YOUR DAY AND WONDER WHY YOURE IN A BAD MOOD

We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection
(via purplebuddhaproject)
The worst kind of love is when you love
through the disgusting—
when you’re bad for each other
and you know it
and you keep on loving
and it tears you apart.
The worst is when you can’t get enough of it.
You’re running to their mouth
like you’re looking for a fix;
you promise yourself,
just one last time.
But the last time becomes the next time
and you wear their bruises
in a ring around your neck,
and tell yourself it’s poetic
to wear hickeys like a hanging.
You try to shake them from your bones,
but they’ve soaked into the marrow,
made sponges of your femurs.
Your legs give out at the knees
and you call it love.
They say the warning sign
is when you think you need one another.
They say that’s where it starts.
But you’ve never loved by halves
and you don’t know how to stop.
The worst is when you lose yourself loving
but you have always loved that way
and you don’t think there’s anything
you can do about it.

2 AM Sunrise, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
Being alone never felt right. Sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.
Charles Bukowski, Women (via feellng)

(Source: feellng)

Do not call me perfect,

a lie is never a compliment.

Call me an erratic

damaged and

insecure mess.

Then tell me that you

love me for it.


Beau Taplin || You’re a fucking wreck and I love you for it. (via recovering-ballerina)

(Source: afadthatlastsforever)

Not everyone you lose is a loss.
(via suspend)

(Source: starlate)

My friend once told me
she liked this guy because of his hands
And I found it absurd that anyone
would develop feelings over one feature,
and not care about the rest

It wasn’t until you used your hands
to cup the back of my neck the first time we kissed
and I could feel your firm grasp pull me closer,
and my insides exploded
and my head buzzed with bliss.

And the first night you slept over,
you fell asleep with your hand
laid over my stomach
and your fingers felt like a fire
that I didn’t mind burning my skin.

The first time we got drunk,
was the first time you played with my hair,
and my god I was hooked,
I’d drink forever if it meant you’d never stop.

And in public you’d hold my hand,
and rub your thumb in little circles
that left me wanting you more,
no matter what you would never let me go,
I was glued to you,
and I honestly didn’t mind

When we talked about breaking up,
you saw my lips quiver with fear,
and you brushed over my lips with your fingers
before pulling me into your lap
and you kissed me like never before.
With your hands on my hips
pulling me so close to you,
leaving no space in between us.
It was then I realized I never wanted you to go

Its now that,
I finally understand why hands
were the only feature that mattered


Hands: Carol Shlyakhova (strong-but-breakable)
We looked at each other a little too long to be ‘just friends’.
(via psych-facts)