If I told you the truth, you'd beg for a lie.

18.Toronto.

Do what you want, not what others want you to do.

I hide behind a mask. You'd be surprised with the secrets I keep hidden behind this smile.

Recovering.

Cut Free Since November 15th 2012

September 29, 2014 8:42 pm
You left my dragon back there. He can’t fly on his own. He’ll drown.

(Source: starrdork, via valliantpungentreindeerking)

8:41 pm 8:39 pm 8:35 pm

soujizz:

omg i just realized

theyre called pancakes

 because theyre like cakes

but you cook them

wait for it

in a pAN

image

(Source: continello, via valliantpungentreindeerking)

8:34 pm
darkest-fallen-angel:

platypus-in-a-bottle:

kristoffbjorgman:

a sad and lonely Mike Wazowski for your dashboard
I wonder what happens when you drag him

love how this is gonna look on my blog

IF YOURE ON MOBILE CLICK IT!!!

darkest-fallen-angel:

platypus-in-a-bottle:

kristoffbjorgman:

a sad and lonely Mike Wazowski for your dashboard

I wonder what happens when you drag him

love how this is gonna look on my blog

IF YOURE ON MOBILE CLICK IT!!!

(Source: kristoffbjorgman, via valliantpungentreindeerking)

8:33 pm 8:33 pm 6:32 pm

madehimsaycomfychairs:

thebeauty-isa-beast:

curvellas:

my fall look today is winged eyeliner, plum lipstick, and a look on my face like i’m fucking your boyfriend and can’t wait for you to find out.

My fall look is simple liner with bold lashes, burgundy lipstick, a gleam in my  eyes that let’s men know that I’ll suck their dick, their money out of their bank accounts, and the souls right out of their bodies.

this is my favorite post on tumblr currently

(via youwillunderstand)

5:25 pm 5:23 pm
"

All these boys want to fuck me, then forget me. They like having me there when they feel like it. Like the thought of me moaning their names and that’s it. They invite me over, say, make yourself at home. So I climb onto their fire escapes and shake.

All these boys like to text me late at night, when they’re bored. “Just thinking about you,” they say. And that’s it. Or they type, “I read your poetry. You’re going somewhere.” “What did you read?” I reply nervously. When they get back to me it’s one, two, three weeks later. It’s, “I don’t remember. Some stuff.” And that’s it.

I am wondering what they’d write if they wrote about me. “She was nice. Sort of pretty too. But mechanical. Preplanned. I don’t think I knew her much at all.”

Or worse, “We talked a few times. I liked the way her mouth looked. Wanted to feel it on me, you know? Thought about us fucking a few times…Yeah, I’d say I knew her pretty well.”

All these boys wipe their drool on me like I am just the flesh. Just a place to die in, for the night. Just a sweet thing to reflect on when they’re feeling heavy. Just an idea that they never got and still don’t want. And that’s it. That’s it.

"

And That’s It | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

(via frontseatstoned)