Get me out of here

Get me out of here

The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear."—H.P. Lovecraft

(Source: wouldyouliketoseemymask, via vampiirking)

Look at us bein’ super fuckin cute.

Look at us bein’ super fuckin cute.

Tool

"The Patient"

maliceinbrains:

"If there were no rewards to reap,
No embrace to see me through,
This tedious path I’ve chosen here,
I certainly would’ve walked away, by now”

(via eastern-hemlock)

turtle-pirate:

Jake’s mom is a total badass

(Source: rabalogy, via endlessnecrosis)

fitness-barbie:

educated-ignorance:

hersheywrites:

Y’all quick as fuck with these gifs.

This was important though.

I need every pretentious college student to see this tho. This is an important PSA.

This show is awesome :) 

(Source: gifthetv, via tinyhousedarling)

measure-of-intent:

"Good food does lead to sex. As it should. And in a perfect world, good music does too."
-Anthony Bourdain

Hero. 

measure-of-intent:

"Good food does lead to sex. As it should. And in a perfect world, good music does too."

-Anthony Bourdain

Hero. 

I. Two poets fall in love, and that’s when it gets ugly.

II. We go to dinner. You order the wine, red and burning, and it goes down like blood. We start with Shakespeare, move to Plath. You use alliteration to tell me that I’m ripping out your lungs with my metaphors, and I counteract with a hyperbole, say you’ve clogged my arteries with your similes. Don’t touch me with your dictionary, I want to say. Touch me with your hands.

III. The appetizers arrive. Bread as soft and brown as the flesh of your neck. Move to Emerson. Ask about God. Was Jesus this soft and brown? My Bible never told me about the strength in your apricot arms, your chestnut knuckles, this most divine truth resting under your skin. Move to Whitman. I envy the grass that licks your neck when you tumble down hills and watch the clouds. Touch me with your hands.

IV. The main course is a fawn’s heart seasoned with autumns and breaking. I eat more than you do. Move to Rilke. Write letters. When I tell you about the words, you say that you will die for ink and paper: I want you to break my neck. Move to Allen. Kiss the sunlight. Ask to live. Touch me with your hands.

V. Dessert is your mouth at three a.m., pulled over to the side of an empty, dark highway. Tell me you love me and it goes down like blood. Kiss my hip and it feels like dying. Don’t touch me with your dictionary. Touch me with your hands.

—Two Poets Fall In Love, And That’s When It Gets Ugly | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)

(via lokabarn)

tallulahblues:

I literally crave affection. It’s not about sex. I crave somebody to cuddle with me, and to lay their head on my lap. I crave kisses, holding hands and running my thumb across theirs. Just looking at someone and thinking “how did I get this lucky”.

I had to explain this to Torfi the other night. He didn’t understand that it wasn’t always about sex with me. I mean sure, I get horny and there are times when I want him to fuck my brains out but 75% of the time I just want him to show affection by kissing my neck while I’m washing dishes or laying his head in my lap while we watch netflix late at night or playing with my hair or tickling me. 

(via lokabarn)

k969:

Burlesque ~  Miss Anthropy

(via lokabarn)

NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY