doe-eyes of a strange girl with brownish hair,
Sweet Seals For You, Always
$LAYYYTER
todays bird
Sade Olutola

Kaledo Art

roma★

tannertan36

No title available
Stranger Things

oozey mess
noise dept.
Misplaced Lens Cap

Love Begins
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
Peter Solarz

Origami Around
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
No title available

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Canada

seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Italy

seen from Canada
seen from South Africa

seen from Canada
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
@couldthisbeworse
doe-eyes of a strange girl with brownish hair,
i may not be magically happy when i’m skinny but i will at least be skinny
silent girl september… sleepy girl september… solitary girl september…
let me put on a show for you tiger
“All those fine August mornings so temporary so gold-ringed by heat haze & where is that witch girl unafraid of anything?”
— “Brute Strength”, Emily Skaja (via nomorechoirs)
the art of lying is a science: i’ll put on my lab coat and my safety goggles and tinker inside your head until all you see is what i want you to see.
you’ll wonder, “have i gone blind? or was i blind all my life, and it’s only just now that i’ve realized what all this is?”
and i’ll slyly grin, baring my teeth in a way that hopefully doesn’t threaten you, tucking my demon’s tail away and out of sight, pleasantly answering, “i don’t know, you tell me.” what a farce it is, a tasteless, turgid, terrible show, poorly written and scarcely rehearsed. the actors are all shams, ghouls and frauds, devils and beggars and thieves and cheats. such a shame that something so beautiful could actually be so ugly. not many can see behind the thick draping of those velvet curtains, but i see.
i see everything.
and you see nothing, because i’ve kept everything from you. take a scalpel and slice through my chest, peel back the thick draping of this velvet flesh, crack the cage of ivory bone, have a peek inside at all these holy terrors.
they’re living in me.
i am them, and they are me.
(this isn’t a horror story. nor is it a horrible declaration of self-emaciation. it’s a warning. be careful who you believe.)
Fiona Apple
me by amelie strobl
Colette Pechekhonova @ Anne Molinari S/S 1999, Paris