Sorry that I hate to be wrong, sorry my first instinct is to cry when I’m frustrated, sorry I bite my lip and close my eyes and don’t look at anyone to prevent it, sorry I always rub my eyes to try and get the exhaustion out, sorry I can never pick the right words, sorry I can’t explain to you why it hurts, sorry that you don’t understand at all, sorry I can’t do more on weekends than sit and stare at a wall, sorry the only time I’m partially at peace is when I sleep, sorry I’m not the most amazing friend or best student, sorry I have no energy to be, sorry that I’m not interested in anything anymore, sorry for all the people that love me that I can’t do anything for, sorry I’m failing, sorry that I’ll die and so many will bleed, sorry I wasn’t good enough for you to need, sorry that it’s still aching inside of my lungs, sorry that I loved you so much and you didn’t even know how to love I’m sorry I couldn’t change that I’m sorry you were scared I’m sorry I’m sorry god I’m sorry I cared

I grew up in
secondhand smoke and
constant arguments and
Family feuds that slipped past
my awareness
and bitter grudges that were
taken out on
I am surprised
that I don’t have
of the lungs,
of the mind,
and of the heart.

You should have just stayed away from me.
You never should have come into my life,
pretending that you had good intentions when
everything you did was more for you
than it ever was for us.
You never should have made me believe I meant something to you when you were using me to fill the emptiness life left you with.
You never should have lifted my spirit so high just to crush it, drop it, and step on it, because now there’s blood on your hands.

And it will show.

Every love letter you write, and you will write them,
every hand you hold,
every naive face you fucking stroke, all the features you trace like a connect-the-dots (because it’s all a game to you)
you will leave the red behind in damages, in stains.
It will trail after you like paint.
You are guilty!, it will howl at you,
it will eat you alive, the guilt, it will scream inside of you with every new girl.
But not louder,
No, asshole, not louder
than I screamed into my pillow
for the three fucking weeks
after you left.

I have died a million times over since my first death at a very young age. This must mean I’ve come back to life in each instance, but in each instance, there was a little less life in me than before. I am becoming hollow; it’s an emptiness I don’t know how to fill, a drought in the place where my emotions used to run.
Kayla Kathawa - the doc prescribed prozac (via ninakathawa)



wow look at this terrible role model for young girls.

Reasons Ive loved her from the start to now and never stopped loving her.

(via shaniy12)

I wonder
whose arms would I run and fall into
if I were drunk
in a room with everyone
I have ever loved.
this becomes almost deeper when you think of non-romantic loves too (via suspend)

(via allxgeant)



"we almost dated" is such a weird relationship to have with someone

Plus the sequel “we never got closure”

And then the side adaptation “as a result I have a weird crush that never died”

Don’t forget the other side adaptation, “Lets Give it Another Go”

(via lou-ey)


I just want a boy who smells nice, has pretty eyes, has a good taste in music and owns heaps of band shirts to fall in love with me 

(via simmerdownirwin)

You're sooooooo pretty what satanic ritual did you have to go through???????

Aww thank you! ❤ But I’m really not that pretty. I’m sure you’re way prettier! 😍😘