Drinking, thinking and other diseases.

[impurewhenawake]

You should have racing stripes the way you keep me in pursuit.

Dangerous Animals

[impurewhenawake]

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head. Only you can cool my desire... Oh, I'm on fire.

I'm on Fire

[whisperingbones]

I couldn’t decide and I realized: it all comes down to who you drunk call, who you hope that text is from, who that song reminds you of, who you want to spend a Saturday night with eating cupcakes naked and reading shitty poetry I decided it’s you and oh gosh I wish it wasn’t

because I doubt it’s me you see/d.a.h (via whisperingbones)

[whisperingbones]

Too many men look at me like I owe them something, like the word ‘beautiful’ should mean something to me just because that’s how they choose to describe me. Too many men think that the black heels I wear to the grocery store is my way of saying, “Look at my legs. Do you like the way my dress hugs my curves?” When the truth is I just got off work and need some fucking beer and bread. Don’t look at me like that, the only reason my lips are painted red is because I ran out of Chapstick and this was the only thing I could find in my car. I once dated a man who said that for Valentine’s Day all he wanted was me in red lace. He said that I would taste like chocolate, that he wanted to show me just how good love can feel. He talked like his sex skills were the best gift he could give me. I wore black lace and showed him how it feels to be fucked harder than the night he lost his virginity to a stripper. He said I tasted like mystery and black coffee as he got down on his knees to find his boxers. He said he couldn’t find the taste of chocolate on my neck. That was the morning he realized that being a man had nothing to do with ‘how hard you can fuck’. If that was the case, I would be ten foot tall and bullet proof and one hell of a guy with nice boobs. One time I fell into the arms of a drunk man who claimed that he loved me afterwards. He called me a bitch when I said I just wanted to be his friend. I told him if me giving him my friendship made me a bitch then me giving him my heart would make me a cunt from hell. That was the day I stopped kissing boys who had to prove that they were men and started holding hands with men who didn’t realize they turned heads when they walked by. Love rests in the heart and is spilled from your throat. Lust rests in your pants and prefers to not ask for a name. One day those men will realize that sincere, kind words are the way to a woman’s heart, not a good fucking. One day those men will realize that their Adam’s apple is the forbidden fruit, not their dick.

when he asks what drawer you keep your lingerie in

Whispering Bones, by Drew Hairgrove Purchase your copy here

(via whisperingbones)

[galaxypiratekitten-blog]

Spoon me so I can wiggle my butt and give you a boner

[larmoyante]

It’s hard to let go. Even when what you’re holding onto is full of thorns, it’s hard to let go. Maybe especially then.

Stephen King, Joyland (via larmoyante)

[lochnessmorgan]

[lovejdforever]

[impurewhenawake]

It's only falling in love because you hit the ground.

I Appear Missing

[dianecsousvide]

[impurewhenawake]

"...or I did last time I checked."

[garrulus]

what a time to be alive….

[gifsboom]

A magic trick.

[tomtom1996]

[hedonist--poet-deactivated20240]

He’s emotionally unavailable, and I’m mentally damaged.

Hedonist Poet (via hedonistpoet)

[impurewhenawake]

Pieces were stolen from me, but dare I say - given away. Watching the water give in as I go down the drain. I appear missing now.

I Appear Missing

[ninjamutanti]

[impurewhenawake]

Most of what you see, my dear, is purely for show - because not everything that goes around comes back around, you know. Holding on too long is just a fear of letting go - because not everything that goes around comes back around, you know.

...Like Clockwork