http://trippy-mess.tumblr.com/post/83475772664/thou-shalt-not-steal-if-there-is-a-direct-victim ↘

trippy-mess:

Thou shalt not steal if there is a direct victim.
Thou shalt not worship Pop Idols or follow Lostprophets.
Thou shalt not take the names of Johnny Cash, Joe Strummer, Johnny Hartman, Desmond Dekker, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix or Syd Barrett in vain.
Thou shalt not think any male over the age…

reblog   source:pitchblackglow  skuhll   notes:45696   posted:1 day ago  
reblog   source:balancedhigh  just-beelieve   notes:16378   posted:1 day ago  

I am fucking insane but my intentions are gold and my heart is pure.

- (via iridicat)

What would Kreayshawn do?

reblog   source:reapsunshine  s-salt   notes:1050   posted:4 days ago  
be-a-serial-killer:

Vintage Paradise
reblog   source:d-art-magazine  heroin-roses   notes:122141   posted:4 days ago  
warning—-sign:

love
reblog   source:confessions-of-a-cutaholic  warning---sign   notes:3816   posted:5 days ago  

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

- It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)
reblog   source:weheartit.com  lapuraviida   notes:83   posted:5 days ago  
n6jlv:

>if this isn’t art, then what is it?
>if this isn’t art, then what is?
>if this isn’t art, then what?
reblog   source:n6jlv  leighannsays   notes:513   posted:6 days ago  

n6jlv:

>if this isn’t art, then what is it?

>if this isn’t art, then what is?

>if this isn’t art, then what?

Same
reblog   source:awenchlikeme  leighannsays   notes:29199   posted:6 days ago  

Same

info

We are more than the worst thing that has ever happened to us. All of us need to stop apologizing for having been to hell and come back breathing.
What doesn't kill you cuts fucking deep but scars are just skin goring back thicker when it heals.
--Clementine Von Radics

ask