I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good♔

cheer up little flower it can't rain forever, p☮sitivity♊️

216 CLE

Reinterpretation of Tolkien’s Fantastic Hobbit Home:

Chris Guise’s Bonsai Artwork

(Source: zoomine, via creepylunchlady)

worldupmyass:

chawman:

i need


where can i buy this immediately

worldupmyass:

chawman:

i need

where can i buy this immediately

(Source: pushsluppy)

keepcalm-anddontpanic:

thedemsocialist:

So you say “Capitalism is the only system that works?”

This is such a ridiculously good way to show how it all ‘works.’ Amazing shot.

keepcalm-anddontpanic:

thedemsocialist:

So you say “Capitalism is the only system that works?”

This is such a ridiculously good way to show how it all ‘works.’ Amazing shot.

(via worldupmyass)

print-52:

It’s Been A Year Without It- Take My Hands, Please. 11”x14” Screen PrintLeslie Dorcus(Week 41 of 52)

print-52:

It’s Been A Year Without It- Take My Hands, Please.
11”x14” Screen Print

Leslie Dorcus
(Week 41 of 52)

(via worldupmyass)

tootsied:

you think you’re cool but you’re just room temperature

(via asvprock)

Death is not beautiful, I’ve become a journal of suicide notes.

When I was 12, one of my best friends stopped eating because she learned that the only way boys would love her would be if she became half the person she had always been. And there was nothing beautiful in the way skipped meals and toilet seats became her life’s mantra until she could feel her bones under her skin.

When I was 13, one of my best friends told me she liked to carve words into her skin because that was the only way she could feel anything other than emptiness. And there was nothing beautiful in the way she embedded scars so deep into her veins she tried to bleed the life out of her.

When I was 14, one of my best friends took a bunch of pills because her body and mind were too tired to play Russian roulette with her thoughts anymore. And there was nothing beautiful in the way those words rolled off her tongue so effortlessly like they were the only thing she could hear in her head.

When I was 15, I stayed up all night talking my best friend out of taking her own life because she got drunk on the thought of throwing her body off the roof a week before her birthday. And there was nothing beautiful in the layers of intoxication in her voice when she told me she’d always wanted to die by her own hands.

Death is not beautiful, I’ve become a journal of suicide notes.

I’ve become a journal of suicide notes.// by rb (via rbcages)

(via laughingatyoursecurity)