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goodbye children


Some people are constructive with their evenings… I make a Doo family tree

this is a little unnerving 
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Christian Dior Haute Couture Spring 2013
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I lie to myself about you; Between the day and night I lose sleep and give up on dreaming so I can imagine you calling my name and touching my hands. Between writing and reading poetry, I start with your first name and sign them with your last name. Then I lie one more time and tell everybody that I do not write or read about you. Between caging my butterflies in my stomach and feeling the adrenalin through my veins, I crave the emotions you create in my hideous heart. Between avoiding, talking to my friends about you and asking your friends about me, I want to keep you a secret.

I lie about you a lot, and I know you are not much of a liar but you are my lie. And between everything we are and not going to be, we are beautiful lies to those who do not understand.

- Between Everything, We Are Lies by Royla Asghar (via poems-of-madness)
10 hours ago + 364 REBLOG wordslove
10 hours ago + 30317 REBLOG well fuckpeople

Love is a serial killer. It kills lover after lover with knives in the heart and guns to the head. Love is a sociopath. It charms you with love- songs and your favorite chocolate but only to get your guard down and attack you. Love is a thief. It steals your ribs made of diamonds and leaves you broke. Love will beat you in the dirty corners of your street on your way home and leaves you with a black eye and a love poem. Love is a stalker. It stalks you in the supermarket or at a party but you rather call that dejavu. Love is bloody. You will wake up from your nightmares in a bath of blood and you will scream for help but it is just too late. Love kidnaps your mind and locks it in a basement where is no light and the dark thoughts will be all you know. It’s called the Stockholm syndrome. Love is a burglar. Breaking inside your body and steals every golden dust you are made of and then bury you in the middle of nowhere.

And love is a psychopath. And we all are victims.

- Love Is A Serial Killer by Royla Asghar (via poems-of-madness)
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