Q:Do you keep secrets from the one you hold closest to you?
Anonymous
No, he’s my best friend as well as my boyfriend.
Source: passio-umbra
Death
Death is so easy to commit. You do it and it’s done. You have nothing to worry about. No lying. No flirting. No heart feelings. Nothing. You die alone. A lying, selfish, heartless corpse.
I Miss…
As I lay in my bed alone.. he’s not here. That warm body next to me isn’t here and I’m not with him. He’s home alone missing me. I’m home alone missing him. I miss my sweetie and I want to be with him. It’s harder to sleep at night without him cuddling with me all night. His body next to mine, till the sun will rise. I wish he was here. I wish that I was there. I wish we were together since being alone isn’t fair. I miss the man of my dreams, the one that’s in my heart. So please tell me, please, why do we have to be apart? This long distance relationship is killing me so, but hopfully one day it will disappear. I’ll have him near. He’ll be by me every night. God, I wish I had my love tonight. :’(
Crazy in love
Even though we can be so far away, I don’t want anyone but him. I miss him. When I leave him to drive back home I just wish that I could just stay with him forever and never leave. This summer better be the way I planned it cause if it is.. Well then I’ll find out if I’m going to live with him or not. I miss my white boy <3
I lost my black pen. :(
Haha thank god I’m Asian and I plan to die before 60 XD
Source: harpers-bazaar
I went to subway. My boyfriend’s name is Caleb. I usually don’t care about the receipts. But for some reason I wanted to look at this one.
When you think…
When you look into the past, what do you see? If you’re like me, you’ll see happiness.. Fun.. Smiles.. Hope.. But that’s my past. The present is nothing like that. I can blame it on anything and everything. But in the end it is still my fault. I think about what did to become this. A creature who is slowly losing their mind. As a child I had a mother who worked and worked, never to really be seen. A father who drank, stayed out late at “work” so he says. My parents weren’t around. So who was? My neighbors, well most were religious, telling me I need god. If “he” doesn’t need me, why is it that ever needed him. I’ve been to church, I’ve heard what the preachers had to say. I still don’t get it. Religion sucked back in the day. So I didn’t cate what everyone had to say. Since my parents were never home I’d leave the house, the neighborhood and just walk. I’d go to the beach, alone. I’d meet kids who I’d never see again. I’d watch the sun set just to know the day has come to the end. My parents were never around and when my father was never home and shipped out to sea. Well my mother had some company. Deep down, I loved this man as a father. Deep down, I loved how he made my mother happy. But deep down I hated this lie. My father never knew. He would never know. He still does not know. I hate that man now. I hate my mother for what she did. I hate myself for keeping this secret. I acted out as a child. My father out a sea, my mother working. At school I was chaos. I fought, beat up kids, older, younger, and my age, to let out the frustration and madness. I knew I’d never get in trouble, so I continued. I need god. So one says. I need hope. So one tells. I am nothing…that’s me. I’m nothing. I still question my existence. Why? Because my mind won’t shut up. It tells me, the world is nothing. We kill this world to keep our lives running. We kill each other, to satisfy our needs. We kill ourselves, knowing it’s the only way out. Or is it? Madness. Am I going insane? I saw a woman today, fat as can be. Kankles in all, sadly. I felt sickness. She disgusted me. She let herself become fat. Why? Depression? Or laziness? Who cares? Not me. If rather her and all fat people die. Skinny bitches as well. I guess in out of this world. I’m on that list. Tell me why I hate myself, yet live a man who will never know the truth. The truth of myself. Where I come from. I’m a killer. Slowly killing myself. I don’t deserve the goods the things I receive. I am nothing. Nothing. When he asks what, I reply nothing. It’s the only word that can describe what I think. Why? Because what I think means nothing. To you. To them. To me. Because I am nothing.
