lets pretend my blog is good

 

saladder:

mom… dad…. mom… dad…. mom… dad…. *starts beatboxing* mom… dad…. mom… dad…. 

voiceofnature:

So I dyed my cats pink with leftover beet water. No regrets! <3 :D I had to wash them because of some oil spill they had gotten into, and chose to use the beet water, which is perfectly safe. I had no idea it would really make them this pink.

voiceofnature:

So I dyed my cats pink with leftover beet water. No regrets! <3 :D
I had to wash them because of some oil spill they had gotten into, and chose to use the beet water, which is perfectly safe. I had no idea it would really make them this pink.

tupacabra:

i dialed 666 and it rang twice and then went to voicemail??? the devil fckin SAW that i was calling, decided i wasn’t worth his time, and hit decline???? wow. fuck a fake friend where ya real friends at…………….

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

comfortably-lobotomized:

theflowerfaery:

conflictingheart:

the waitomo caves of new zealand’s northern island, formed two million years ago from the surrounding limestone bedrock, are home to an endemic species of bioluminescent fungus gnat (arachnocampa luminosa, or glow worm fly) who in their larval stage produce silk threads from which to hang and, using a blue light emitted from a modified excretory organ in their tails, lure in prey who then become ensnared in sticky droplets of mucus.

photos from spellbound waitomo tours, forevergone, blue polaris, and martin rietze. (more cave photos) (more bioluminescence photos)

I’ve been here! It was so so so magical

Beautiful, I’d get lost on purpose and never come out.