as the roots undo.

Hello. The name's Kailey. I'm twenty-two, living on the outskirts of Orlando. My heart is in Austin but I'm dying in Florida.
Writing rubs me in all of the right ways. The only thing marked incessant with me is my fucked up sleeping schedule.
I'm vulgar & desensitized, reclusive and volatile; but most of all, I'm a fucking mess.

Why can't monsters get along with other monsters?

last.fm

You tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.
— “For Women Who Are Difficult to Love,” Warsan Shire (via jazzgoblin)

(Source: sotla, via orange-spots)

Black is not sad. Bright colors are what depresses me. They’re so… empty. Black is poetic. How do you imagine a poet? In a bright yellow jacket? Probably not.
— Ann Demeulemeester (via oscill8wildly)

(Source: indieeb, via dork-princess)

So cute.

(Source: Gawker, via pandarican)

tressainte:

my mom works harder than your corporate, scumbag, suit-wearing dad

and don’t you forget it

(via vomohiper-deactivated20131216)

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