Anonymous: "Hello again! It's your secret santa, I know I've been off a few days but it's for good reason! Which you will soon see. Now back to business. If you had five dollars, a tree and a turnip. What would you do?"
I trust you friend. (Obviously I’m so great seeing as I didn’t even get this until just now.) If I had five dollars, a tree and a turnip I’d go out and buy a notebook, a pen, and a coke. Then I’d climb the tree, write, and throw the damn turnip on the ground.
“If he can only perform good or only perform evil, then he is a clockwork orange—meaning that he has the appearance of an organism lovely with colour and juice but is in fact only a clockwork toy to be wound up by God or the Devil.”
Anonymous: "Tock, tock, tick tock. Guess what time it is? SECRET SANTA TIME. Are you excited? I sure am. So I begin with a few questions. Red or blue? Up or down, left or right?"
TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK, HOOK’S AFRAID OF AN OLD DEAD CLOCK.
Hi I love you. Okay, red if I’m wearing it, blue if it’s baby blue. Always up and always left.
MORNING BLUES: a mix for waking up in the morning, slowly and lazily to start the day perfectly
(Source: morevnass, via pansyprkinson)
Despite what you’ve read, your sadness is not beautiful. No one will see you in the bookstore, curled up with your Bukowski, and want to save you. Stop waiting for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare,
for an end to your sadness in Keats. He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived. Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world.
Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth. Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.
short days where the nights are long
(Source: wandlesstribute, via ermykneeandwheezy)