(via eerieboy)

I feel like I’m falling into that preset pattern of behaviour for a person in my situation. Not because I feel the need to act as such, but simply because I need an outlet and I’m running out of ideas.
Ironic how I’ve always struggled not to be defined by what happened, and now I seem to be the one most eager to define myself as that. 

Now I’m off to watch Christmas movies until I pass out and eat candy until I puke.

(via filicide)

totalfilm:

I want someone to write letters to. Someone to shamelessly expose my soul to.
There’s just something about holding a piece of paper in your hand that you know has been held by someone miles away. Conversing over the internet can’t compare.

If anyone is interested, let me know. 

Reminds me of home.

(via c0mpromise)

I’m not cut out for this shit.
I wanted so desperately to get out, and now I can’t go back.
My school is shit. I’m terrified of getting a job.
Is it too much to ask that I live a life with zero responsibilities and a steady income?  

My life is falling apart. I can’t sleep.

(Source: filicide)

thesnicketfile:

It was drawing closer and the children could see a few details.

‘The Bad Beginning, Or Orphans!’ (paperback), by Brett Helquist

(via eerieboy)

(via eerieboy)

(Source: partizany, via eerieboy)

Someone should have taught you not to play with fire.

No one seems to read books anymore. Or watch films from before 1990. And no one seems to care about anything other than doing push ups and fucking girls.

Am I misanthropic yet?