“The little things that kill you make you glad to be alive.
C’est la vie!
Sing a song of living before everybody dies.”

my name is kadie & i've been living for 23 years. there's a good chance you don't like me & theres an even better chance that i just don't give a fuck. i've learned a lot of lessons the hard way but then again, i guess thats the only way to really learn, huh? i forgive easily, but i swear, i never forget.
sometimes i wish i could, though.. i think a good case of amnesia would be nice vacation. i'm always looking to escape. i live in my own fantasy world and try to never leave it, that's really unrealistic but being happy in la-la land is better than wanting in die in what some people call "reality", though things will bring you out of la-la land, & you start to drop out of the clouds you were dreaming in, to smash into a thousand pieces on the hard cold ground of the earth but hey, thats life, kid. i'm not gonna sugar-coat shit. i love Halo and my gamer tag is DivinityxWithin





For future reference.

Thank you.

For those who would ever need it. -C

reblogging here because i can see this being relevant to anyone who’s ever tried to get out of an abusive relationship

(via jakeasaurouz)

15 hours ago

Attachments, Rainbow Rowell  (via ha-n)

(Source: anditslove, via thetalltwig)

So, what if, instead of thinking about solving your whole life, you just think about adding additional good things. One at a time. Just let your pile of good things grow.
15 hours ago
Stop Trying to Love Sad Women on Purpose →


After so many years of one-night stands and flings and breakups

and possibly even eventual divorces with happy women,

women full of joy who put their slippers in order by color

and always seemed to know exactly what to do with

the dirty tea cups, washing them instead…

15 hours ago

Burn Victim | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)

(via thetalltwig)

The things I write about you are not pretty.

For example: You are the ugly way I feel about Los Angeles, mouth a smear like sunset singed with citrus burns. Hollywood hill is a smashed pomegranate against your scorched teeth. All the stars walk the red carpet while I write sonnets to your mouth. It’s been too long since the last time we spoke, I’ve forgotten what everyone else looks like — your hands are trees made of smog, and they have taken root in my lungs. I wish this city would burn to the ground.

For example: The last time I fell in love, I broke all the dishes in the kitchen and bled out on the floor. You were not good for me. You held the bandaids, but I told you to put them back in the drawer. I loved being so broken for you — your heart was a hospital without the healing. My parents never taught me that being loved for your wounds was wrong.

For example: Tonight, I am falling asleep without you. I’ve had bad dreams ever since we met, things about dark-haired women that die because they never ran fast enough. I never ran fast enough. I’m still learning what it’s like not to find your face etched into the wood of my floorboards, and I’m failing miserably. You were not good for me.

For example: You were not good for me. You were California burning, and my lungs couldn’t take it. You were not good for me. You were a broken spine I couldn’t set; I was a scab you always picked. You were not good for me.

For example: Get out of my poetry, nobody wants to read about the ways we broke. Get out of my poetry, this isn’t about you anymore. This is about Los Angeles and how much I hate the sky. California wasn’t good for me — nothing about dying is pretty.

15 hours ago

Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena (via dahlialis)

(Source: kafkaesque-world, via thetalltwig)

In a way, you are poetry material. You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out.
15 hours ago
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