“His hands are cold His breath is smoke” // I messed up with the blue paint but whatever.
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I stay emo (more shitty art for ya)
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Easy
In short breaths,
superficial inhales
exchange for
superficial exhales,
accidental whispers
escape.
Raw emotion.
Taken by your words.
Falling victim to your hands.
You deserve more of me
but, my body is only
vacant for quick fixes.
We are only waiting for
Sunday mornings.
Easy.
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Shitty flower and a beautiful quote from George Watsky
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@ all past lovers
it’s so hard to stay when all you wanna do is ride
(pc: @washere)
please don’t remove credit!
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Illusion (just another heartbreak poem)
When I received your love... It was exquisite. All I wanted was to pocket it; Find time take lines of everything you could give me. Then you ran out; Or maybe your striders were larger than mine, and I couldn't keep up. It wasn't on purpose. You're just human. The wind whispered new secrets And you followed it. So, I left with tremors, Hated the shakes of dependency; So, I hated myself. You're months away now. Well, your love is far, Measured only by the illusion of time, And I'm undergoing personal rehabilitation. But, it's hard to detoxify memories. It's hard to see you in different arms. It's hard to love myself when I still think of you Even with "temporary fixes" lying next to me.
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Shitty drawing of a cat in a party hat
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This looks weird coming from the back of this emo girl
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"... I don't hate them because what I said was false; I hate them because what I said was completely true. My convictions could not have been stronger when I wrote those words, and- for whatever reason- they still faded into nothingness" - "Sex, Drugs, and Coco Puffs" by Chuck Klosterman
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My First Post// How to Make an Entrance...
I’m inspired... what the fuck? (My intro to something) Can privalleged be used as an adjective for a color? And I don’t mean for race, you assuming ass. I mean for the color of my walls. The bright, vibrant, turquoise like shade that screams “my mommy and daddy have many secrets, but never divorced. I’m the poorest, affluent, tan, culturally confused girl you will ever meet. My teen angst developed when I started showcasing my freed, closet skeletons and, didn’t receive the negative reviews I clearly deserved. And, I’m self loathing but instead of fixing it; I parade around my problems and cry about my mild inconveniences.” Can the color of my room say that? The answer is simply “no.” Only I can verbalize that, lounged on my bed, indolently pressing the keys, sipping tea I settled for because my favorite is out, and just wanting to murder the almost, post pubescent girl that wanted this ugly, bright turquoise like-- not even turquoise (I had to be eccentric), color. You might ponder, “why write about the fucking color of your room?..There are people with more grievances than you and they don’t even gossip about what’s wrong. There are people writing great influential works of literature about things that matter; you’re on a rant about bullshit. And there are people who have already ranted about similar nonsense; our ears have bled and our eyes have wept… SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH.” Well my rebuttal to that is I'm inspired. Yup I know, what the fuck? And, my privilege that was handed to me by my forefathers tells me I'm entitled to my opinion. I'm entitled to complain about the color of my room in this format so I can illuminate how hypocritical, indecisive and contradictory I am to prove that I am really the assuming ass and, I'll prove it with my stories to follow.
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