alien sex

My name is Shea. I am a conspiracy theorist. I like books and cartoons. All things risque and dark. I am a music enthusiast. I play, listen and breathe music. This is my ask button.

[lets-get-creepy]

I wish I didn't see these simularities.

It hurts knowing I've already lived the outcome.

I look at you and see pure joy.

I look at you and see love in your eyes.

I saw love in his too,

Though.

Billowing laughter and feeling truly lucky,

I wish it didn't feel so familiar.

Watching you sleep as I did him the night he came home very

very

late.

I pray this dejavu, the history repeats itself, is just a young man who doesn't have a good sense of boundries and a good enough sense of making things right.

[just-shower-thoughts]

That feeling when you’re smart enough to know how awkward you are, but not smart enough to know how not to be awkward.

[just-shower-thoughts]

Tickling is the rape of laughter

[clawmarks]

Omega: the last days of the world - Camille Flammarion - c.1894 - via Internet Archive

[justwithmyvoice]

[trauma-demon]

Despite all my rage I am still just a

Goth looking to get laid

[formerlylohan]

[pleatedjeans]

[fundead]

[onlinedaddy]

i do not understand the big obsession with pop punk 

[realfriendly]

i cant hear you over how much i hate my town

[falseknees]

[highheelmaid]

[lets-get-creepy]

These fucking suck.

[brokehorrorfan]

November 12: Amy Holden Jones’ The Slumber Party Massacre was released 35 years ago today.

[inkskinned]

me, watching people surpass me in literally every possible way: haha! great for them :) also! starting at noon i will be burying myself under leaves and decaying slowly, feel free to stop by!

[egberts]

i go to home depot

i eat the tools

[mugendaii]

Stop it

[egberts]

crumch

[aliensfromhell]

[lets-get-creepy]

Lilac skies

This feeling of Hope explodes out of my chest in an overwhelming display of lilac aura. As I lie face down in my bed I stretch my arms out and start to swim in this familiar sea of irreplaceable contentness. An old friend has visited after a long time apart; a dear friend that took a vital piece of you with them on their self reflecting travels. Upon arrival they meet you with the same warm embrace they have always had and for a moment all bitter feelings have washed away, quickly to replace it would be a reluctant however, tender forgiveness. If it wasn't for the sudden onset of soft lilac skies you'd be certain you'd not given a chance for this long awaited visitor.

This colorful display of second chances (or third or fourth) has been anticipated for so long that the hole left behind has been filled with jagged unmailed letters addressing unapologetic relinquishment. While the corners are sharp, nothing is more painful than the absence of Hope