oh, is that what you had said?

(Source: arztriper, via emmichang)

off to work at Major Willy’s, y’all. UFC fight night, whatever that even means…wrasslin’ or something? 

sundanceislove:

This belongs in Morgan Niles bedroom. (Taken with instagram)

Sippy be knowin’ deez thangz <3

awake.

I want to be angry that I was reduced to speeding down the interstate alone—cigarette smoke, fog, fixating on the flashing lights of reception towers, feeling embarrassed for listening to the Morrissey CD I made when I was sixteen, of all fucking things. 

But mostly, I’m just nervous and scared. Because you slowly crept through my veins like mid-summer afternoons and dripping honey. Starting at the mouth, slowly inching through capillaries, liquid, lazy, and thick, coming to stake your plot in my heart, however semi-permanent that may be. You were, and still are, the unlikely piece that put the whirling, jigsaw of my anxious mind at ease—thrown from memorizing patterns of bricks to memorizing the gradients of your skin, and I’ve never told you that. 

I want to be angry that I’m pathetically facing a handful of days as if it’s a year. I am not a soggy, simpering girl.

But mostly, I’m just nervous and scared. Because my dreams have never stopped being vivid and unsettling, but are quickly forgotten at the gravelly sound of your voice when you first wake up. What do you expect me to do, when there’s no warm skin, no dark sheath of hair falling over your back to hide behind? Come here, let me kiss your neck, coerce you into drinking coffee with me. I promise I’ll cook this time. You are truly beautiful in the morning, and I’ve never told you that. 

I want to be angry that I’m exhausted and reduced to memorizing the same fucking bricks and shadows you drew me away from. I do not want to feel meek and helpless.

But mostly, I’m just nervous and scared. Because honestly, even when I’m asleep, I know when you’re not next to me. I’m ashamed of the hours I haven’t slept. Our bodies fall together in such a perfect fashion—I want to roll my eyes disgustedly, but every time, I’m too busy being astounded by it. I’m kept awake, thinking about the freckles in your right eye, the slight gap in between two of your front teeth (I think it’s precious), your coy smile and the way you cock your fucking eyebrow when you’re being a smart ass (it makes me fucking irate, but I secretly love it.), the way you look when you laugh really hard at something, all your stories about ‘learning things the hard way,’ how I always seem to be an exception to all of your rules, how sometimes when you kiss me, I still feel like I can’t stand, and how embarrassed you got when I dramatically spouted terrible, saccharine 1950s love poems to you in the back room of a thrift store. You’re kind of my sun, but I’ve never told you that.

I want to be angry that there’s a horribly monumental weight sinking in my chest that can only be alleviated by your presence. I do not want to admit how vulnerable I can be. 

But mostly, I’m just nervous and scared. Because it’s so fucking easy to miss you in every nuance of the word, and this is the most truthful thing I’ve written in a long time, if not ever.

eringerety:

AND I am NOT going to change my mind, so please stop telling me that “one day I’ll meet the right man who will change everything.” If he’s the right man, he doesn’t want ‘lil martian-lookin’ shitheads either, he just wants puppies and maybe a goat and a fox or two. 

(Source: leporids)

(Source: locpix, via allograft)

(Source: thedamonsmith, via hausofjohannaeverdeen)

(Source: satanmadeatumblrand, via micaelaowlsullivan)

beforethiswar:

jaynemmrn:

ashleytolfo:

MOST offensive

Oh my god what even

this is everything

THIS IS A SHRINE TO BEETZ.

(via agauldin)

quinnisgay:

 #well then have a nap #THEN FIRE ZE MISSILES

(Source: tracingsouls, via hausofjohannaeverdeen)