THM
To travel is to live.
No, fuck you. I was worth it.
and I’m still worth it // R.R.  (via expo)

dumbbellsandfastcars:

peruvian—goddess:

cuts-brusies-razors:

lostandgonewiththewind:

This fucking killed me.

fuck

mnxiping

iinquiring:

im-smoking-to-die:

this entire poem destroyed me

this breaks my heart

iinquiring:

im-smoking-to-die:

this entire poem destroyed me

this breaks my heart

how to tell if someone likes you

1. they don’t

timexspirit:

mixed pale

timexspirit:

mixed pale

You’ll stop once you find out what it’s like to know how the guy sitting next to you in English class tastes. And how his stubble feels grazing your neck as he places open mouthed kisses up your eyelids and down your belly button. You pretend you don’t notice the creeping pink that taints his cheeks every time you catch his eye and smile.

You’ll stop once you figure out the best way to run into the guy that lives next to the cigar shop down the block. And shake the feeling of his hands exploring crevices you didn’t know you had in the middle of the night. You pretend his eyes look at your face instead of the valley between your chest.

You’ll stop when the lines between friend and something a little more are a little more blurred. Or maybe a little less. It doesn’t really matter if his kisses taste like whiskey because in the morning everything will have been forgotten. You pretend to turn a deaf ear to whispered confessions and late night proclamations declaring love for you and only you.

You’ll stop when the thumping of your heart is due to running toward someone’s open arms instead of away. And maybe the guy at the next party you go to won’t insist on hugs that last a little too long for your comfort. You pretend you know what you’re doing when someone asks what you want for a drink.

You’ll stop as soon as your hands don’t shake when the tall boy with blue eyes holds them and insists that everything will be okay. And you try to drown yourself in his ocean but his grip is too tight and your fingers are going numb and you swear up and down that nights like those will never happen again. You pretend to tell the truth as your grip tightens around his fingers.

You’ll stop as soon as he kisses you and you’ll stop as soon as he doesn’t. And maybe you see smoke instead of fireworks but the only way you’re able to breathe is through mouth to mouth resuscitation. He doesn’t have to know that all you’re looking for tonight is to be brought back to life. Not brought back home. You pretend his hands don’t burn when they slip underneath your torn life vest.

Maybe you won’t stop. Maybe you will. All you know is that you’ve got galaxies running through your veins and not a single one of them has got stars that shine. You pretend to look for a light. But really, all you’re looking for is a place to crash into and somehow know that that is the exact place where you belong.

I guess this is just the long way of saying I haven’t found anyone or anywhere I belong, not more than when I belonged with you. -gaa (via mysterygrl13)
I would much rather suffocate underneath your skin,
than live knowing you’re killing someone else with your touch.
I should probably masturbate
Me whenever I’m home alone (via spicy-vagina-tacos)
loki-has-a-tardis:

This is honestly the best poster I have found in a while supporting breast cancer awareness. I am honestly so sick of seeing, “set the tatas free” and “save the boobies”. There is no reason in hell a life threatening, life ruining disease should be sexualized. “Don’t wear a bra day,” go fuck yourselves. You’re not saving a pair of tits, you’re saving the entire package: mind, body, and soul included. Women are not just a pair of breasts.

loki-has-a-tardis:

This is honestly the best poster I have found in a while supporting breast cancer awareness. I am honestly so sick of seeing, “set the tatas free” and “save the boobies”. There is no reason in hell a life threatening, life ruining disease should be sexualized. “Don’t wear a bra day,” go fuck yourselves. You’re not saving a pair of tits, you’re saving the entire package: mind, body, and soul included. Women are not just a pair of breasts.