I'm Lauren. I'm 17 from Ohio, and I really like things. A lot of things.

being swallowed by depression—

It’s like a fucking oil spill. There’s just so much black goo getting into everything and how could you possibly clean it all up and it would take the love and effort and passion of billions of people to try to remedy that and keep all these species and things from dying. All the little fish drowning in it formerly the flecks of copper that lined your eyes and heart. It’s like that all consuming black amoeba thing from Kingdom Hearts when you try to slay it with a sword and it just keeps fucking sticking to you. It’s this all encompassing goo that leaves its mark. You can deter it for a while, you can try to clean it up the best you can, but you know, like the parasite it is, it will never stop sucking the life out of you. Maybe a little, maybe a lot at a time. 

It just follows you

it’s like all the canals in your bones that make them strong and keep you light just start flooding with this toxin. This inky and repulsive substance wells up in your bones and behind your eyes and in your throat. Suddenly movement is no longer a natural function of the human body and speech is at a distance you cannot fathom, especially now that you can’t move, and your eyes are just leaking with it. You come to this point of existentialism asking yourself, was it always this way? will it always be this way? how could I possibly escape this, I’ll never be the same again. I’ll never get rid of this. 

you resign yourself to the cave you’ve built. just big enough for yourself.

curled around your own ribs you’ll be struck with how nice it would be to be curled around someone else’s 

but you remember that you’ve resigned yourself to this. that this was a level of the sea that you and you alone were built to withstand. that taking someone else’s hand and leading them down with you is a conscious sin. 

so you tighten your grip, wondering if you squeezed yourself hard enough you’d wake up 

and praying for something to wake you up when it’s done

sometimes when i get on omegle and the first thing someone says is 

stranger: m

I think about birds during mating rituals where the guys are just strutting around with their chests and genitalia puffed out for like 2 weeks. 




stop telling me there is someone in this world that is perfect for me because you and i both know they live in fucking poland or uganda and ill never meet them 

Well if that’s the case you uganda go find them

i swear to god im gonna take a poland hit you over the head with it

(Source: cryforce, via flxwercrownirwin)



(Source: cosmoscauldron, via aqueerwitch)


why develop feelings for people when you can just walk into traffic and achieve the same results

(via slzroxanne)


I didn’t choose the beard life…oh wait, yes I did.

(via beardpornography)


if you think your family is dysfunctional remember that zeus got a woman pregnant but she burned to death so he rescued the fetus from her ashes and sewed it into his thigh and gave birth to it himself and that fetus is now the god of wine and sexual deviancy god bless

all hail Dionysus amen

(Source: artfucker1996, via flxwercrownirwin)