Beauty was deceptive. I would rather wear my pain, my ugliness. I was torn and stitched. I was a strip mine, and they would just have to look. I hoped I made them sick. I hoped they saw me in their dreams.
— (via lexloveniverse)
3:14 pm • 6 December 2013 • 25 notes
“She loved three things — a joke, a glass of wine, and a handsome man.”
— W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon And Sixpence (via bourbonandpearls)
(Source: catching-my-fancy, via so-why-is-my-heart-broke)
2:46 pm • 6 December 2013 • 20,594 notes
text reads: this doesn’t compare to the feel of your skin
always loved this
2:06 pm • 6 December 2013 • 247,613 notes
“I do all the things you used to hate. I dye my hair colors that make the church ladies stare. I go to bed without dinner and subside entirely on air. I make tea and pour cream in after. I give up reading. I give up The Beatles. I never eat another plate of scrambled eggs. I shape myself into someone you would dislike. My speech sharpens. My teeth turn to fangs. I let go of the softness that drew you to me. My fingernails itch to become claws and I don’t fight it. This is what it takes to survive. I let people into my bed that I would have walked right past with you. He is sad-eyed and needs my flimsy paper wrists to support him. I pour every late night with you into him, until he says, ‘I love you, I love you’ and I say, ‘Shh, you’ll ruin the fun.’ I do what it takes to forget you, and at the end, have more bruises than the ones I started with, but I can finally look at a sunset and not feel anything at all.”
— I Practice Death To Forget You | Lora Mathis (via soggypoetry)
2:03 pm • 6 December 2013 • 8,409 notes
Snow melts and flash freezes into an icy downhill river. A bunch of snowbanks in Russia began to melt, then it got cold again quickly, flash-freezing into the icy river you see here.
(Source: malformalady, via con-traire)
1:54 pm • 6 December 2013 • 130,107 notes