Grow In Pains.

fuckyeahtattoos:

Done by Maura, at Edu Tattoo, Porto Alegre, Brasil  

I would love this tattoo with a key dangling from the bow.

(via popquizkid2006)

Maybe if you respected me and my house I wouldn’t mind. GTFO

I want to make you mine

Ok, I’m into you, like you never knew
I’m falling for you baby, I need a parachute
So wet, I need a wetsuit
You’re way too fly, I could be ya jet fuel
Now tell me what you like
I like what you tell me
And if you understand me, you can overwhelm me
It’s too late, it’s too late
Every finish line is the beginning of a new race
Young Money!

I’m Into You- Lil Wayne

All is fair in love and we’re in love.
Now that everybody’s dead, we can finally talk.
Can vanity and happiness coexist?
All the lovers we’ve taken in direct view of the enemy.

And we shift each other’s body to accept the bullet
And continue the pleasure; the treasures of battle.
It’s only for the wounded, the purple-hearted.

Why must you try to ruin my peace of mind?
And they were only words and i’ve never meant them
I never loved you, even in my weakness.
You were fuel for the fire, cannon fodder.

When my grandpa drank, fell and broke his face in two;
When the cops arrived, he exclaimed “i fought in world war ii”
And then they carried him to a darkened hospital room
And said “no modern person here remembers you,
And we can’t identify the enemy,
And it could be you, so it’ll cost you.”
“it already cost me my wife and my job, now what?”

When my mom and i went to identify the body,
And i wanted to see but she wouldn’t let me.
I had to wait for the military cemetary
And when we got there, this is what she said to me:
“love and war, in heaven and in hell,
You get what you deserve— you’d better spend it well.
All is fair in love and war— and love,
A civil war like this, it always sells itself.”

Love and War- Rilo Kiley

Third times the charm, right?

Also third times the last time.

Can’t hurt to try.

Right?

Don’t call this an art project. 
this is science, this is progress. 
and don’t pretend these are heartfelt words, we are 
children dressed as surgeons but disturbed by the sight of our scars. 
and now we carry scalpels to trace the scarring resting somewhere 
on the line between my house, your heart and into your home. 
where you lay sleeping like a ceiling fan in winter, 
gently turning as the wind reaches its fingers through the window 
just to hold you, like i held you. 
pressed like a rose between my fingers or like stones 
i keep in pockets meant to weigh me underwater. 

these scars will fade away but never disappear, my dear. 
we’ll raise our fists like lightning to rods to god and 
if he strikes us down, 
then he strikes us down. 
but first, let him hear us speak: 
we are like the legacy of thunderstorms we watched and swore in doorways, 
“we will never be the same again.” 

i can feel you healing and i hate it, 
(like a harpist without hands you only bang the strings 
you used to love to touch so much) 
to hear the dissonance drain violently and then dissolve 
like all the songs i sang but never once could make you smile. 
my god, i would kill to make you smile. 
and reach out to my hands, soft and frail, 
to make good on the love that you swear still exists, and still thrives 
though we’ve buried our bodies in blood (and old lies, 
like, “i’m fine” and “you look so much better than him” 
but don’t trust the surgeon with your heart, 
she’s drunk and sips from poison cups, and 
don’t you trust the scientist, 
he says “life-is-like-a-wineglass” as he spills his drink 
like secrets 
all across your dress and says: 

“my dear, i must confess, i never thought you ever knew what love was like for real. 

(via findingkylie)

I hate how I go to a new school to try and get away from all the bullshit but somehow I’m pulled into drama from my old school. 

Give me a break.