He tucks me into bed, like I’m eight. And he kisses my forehead, which he knows I kinda hate. He drives me anywhere. I shake when he shivers and when he runs his fingers through my hair. Oh yeah, I feel it in my bones. Wants to kiss me when it rains. Loves me rough, oh it’s insane. Needs to feel me in the dark. Loves me sweet, oh hits the mark. He lives to make me laugh....
He tucks me into bed, like I’m eight. And he kisses my forehead, which he knows I kinda hate. He drives me anywhere. I shake when he shivers and runs his fingers through my hair. Oh yeah, I feel it in my bones. Wants to kiss me when it rains. Loves me rough, oh it’s insane. Needs to feel me in the dark. Loves me sweet, oh hits the mark. And he can’t get enough of me. He...
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. why does it always have to end before it even really starts? i mean, i realize things are circumstancial but still… what the fuck do i do that is just so bad or wrong or repulsive that always leaves me alone? i just don’t understand. anyone care to tell me? because i’m tired of always being hurt.
dear my heart, enjoy this awesome crazy thing while it lasts…but prepare yourself for some minor to major damage. -brittany
You be the captain And I’ll be no one And you can carry me away if you want to And you can lay low Just like your father And if I tread upon your feet you just say so ‘Cause you’re the captain I am no one I tend to feel as though I owe one to you To you
i am the other woman. now i want to be the woman. but somehow i just don’t see that happening. yet at the same time, i don’t see how it can’t not happen either. i just wish there was something i could do other than be me. i just hope that’s enough.
oh shit…really? for once, let this end well. …or start well for that matter.
i really hope i don’t get screwed over…since i’m technically “the other girl”.
i’m pretty sure i have a crush… this usually doesn’t end well.
quit chur croonin’, kid!– arthur’s sister.
i feel like i’m going to be sick. like i’m getting sick. like i am sick already. i’m coughing. and only semi-breathing. that is, both literally and metaphorically.
i'm not, but i could.
i’m not happy. i’m not sad. i’m not angry. i’m not bad. i’m not ugly. i’m not pretty. i’m not funny. i’m not skinny. i’m not crying. i’m not smiling. i’m not laughing. i’m not crying. i’m not rich. i’m not poor. i’m not tired. i’m not a whore. i’m not awake. i’m not asleep. i think too much....
i really don’t like crying. not one fucking bit.– me.
alone again. the night brings on a sense of longing. for something more than breathing. or being. it hits me hard, as i lay in bed. or chat you up on the web. “what’s up lonely”. i hear that song playing in the back of my brain. the chorus starts and down my face it rains. this is when i wish…no, i want…no, i need you here…someone anywhere. just to...
You can go from week to week, you can go from year to year; not a hand placed on...– ily, yp, nc.
i need a cuddle buddy asap.– me.
oh no, don’t worry. i love being raped by freddy kreuger!– me.
it’s amazing when someone puts exactly your thoughts and emotions and fears and such into words because they happen to be feeling the same thing. wow. it was sad for me to read that, but it helped a little at the same time. i feel you.
happy birthday, mister ghandi. i wish more people acknowledged you.– me.
be the change you wish to see in the world.– mahatma ghandi.
it is the law of love that rules mankind.– mahatma ghandi.
i object to violence because even when it appears to do good, the good is only...– mahatma ghandi.
i wish i didn’t feel so completely alone all the time. even when other people are around. even when i’m engaging in laughter and conversation. i just feel so fucking alone.