Sometimes I'll write and then I end up looking it...
By the bedside.
My head aches. And I’m cold. Why does it have to be me? Why should it be anyone? Because I don’t deserve this. And someone else does? A rapist might, or a murderer. Ah, so now you are the one to judge? Or you, you’re judging me for judging them. You’re not even fucking real you know. Do I? I’m so cold, my stomach hurts, I don’t want to breathe anymore. Sure you do! You’re just whining because...
Stirring, something is moving. I can feel myself being drawn closer, and in that moment I know. At the door, brushing along the door—faintly, the air is moving. I know it is time again, if such a word can be used to describe this life. There is no light— except— him. He is the only light. Smelling of dead fire and perfumed ashes, he has arrived once more. Dimly, he appears. An orange spark...
Working a summer job is weird.
I have worked eight of the ten days since I’ve been hired even though they said I’m part time.
Someday You Will Be Loved— Death Cab For...
This is a horribly biased article. →
It makes me livid. I can’t imagine why this woman, obviously not the target audience for YA books, thinks she can presume what is to the taste of YA readers. To compound the problem, she falls under the logical fallacy that by reading racier and edgier material (such as books featuring drug use, cutting, and rape) readers will normalize such behaviors and be more likely to do these things...
Reblog if you live here!
everydaysurvivors: marshmallowfluffandmytongue: I want to follow all of you! wat I’m not alone holy shit, the notes…. …I wonder if any of us live near each other.
I'm slightly less than sober.
And not nearly drunk. I really should go to bed.
King of Carrot Flowers by Neutral Milk Hotel
It was one of those humid days when the atmosphere gets confused. Sitting on the...– Jeffery Eugenides - “Middlesex” (via nightlifepop)