(Source: deathlehem, via lulz-time)


puffer fish




listen you boutta have the thickest smoodie of all time, where is your liquid? your ice? weak ass aesthetics, try again

smh they leave the strawberry tops on… might as well leave the gotdam banana peels on

u can eat strawberry tops… & recent studies are showing banana peels are healthy n nutritious for u:…. The turntables

n im sure the outside of a coconut is mad high in fiber but im not bout ta eat woodchips cause of no govermence scienticians

Paradise | by Marc Muick.



it infuriates me when people tell me “lifes too short to not forgive people!” like NO lifes too short for me to continually allow abusive and manipulative behavior in my life and live in a constant state of anxiety bc I want to be “nice” or whatever

#do no harm but take no shit

(via danistotallyuncool)


click here to enter into a teenage boys mind


this could be us but you playin


(via lulz-time)


The natural white sand pool of Fervedouro located near Mateiros village, Brazil. Just 8m in diameter the pool has crystal blue waters and beautiful white sand.


It’s the part of the story after the girl disappears,
and I know she’s already dead,

but I keep watching
until her friends find her in the boathouse
her limp body dropped over the edge of the dock, bare-

chested and blanched, her hysterical
boyfriend heaving her up and holding her close,

corpse-wet hair
clinging to the sweat of his neck. This is how I miss you:

I am the dead girl’s hand
slipping down her waist and smacking palm up
into the water.

I am ashamed of our distance,

the six hundred miles between our bodies
and how you sob when you tell me that since I’ve gone
what remains is the space where you once grew
around me, the same way a tree absorbs ruin

and the hollow of constructed frames.

On the screen, the boyfriend is now victim,
tearing through woods, clipping every branch
while the killer walks coolly behind him
knowing he will fall eventually.

I have never sacrificed

a virgin with the knives I keep in my kitchen.
There is no wolfs bane or garlic beside my bed.
I sleep unprotected.

But because I know endings, I will never make love to you
in the crypt of an abandoned castle
or parked in the woods with your back pressed against the dash

of a jet black El Camino as the hook hand scrapes closer
and closer to the door handle.
I know about the tissue of the heart,

the persistent pull of muscle and bone,
and the beauty of blonde hair

against the shoulder of night. Because of the Wolf Man
and Frankenstein I understand heartbreak,
how we cannot escape the inevitable
full moon or torchlight, and the way my stomach moves
when you ask me what I am thinking

and I am thinking about someone else.



What I Have Started to Understand About Love

 Because I Watch Horror Movies; BY KEITH KOPKA

(via allmymetaphors)

(via cybergirlfriend)