It goes a little something like this.
They’re nice to me. They say sweet things to me. They call me pretty and cute, then they start making short conversations with me. Then after some time, they talk to me less and less, then they eventually just stop talking to me altogether. And that’s when I begin to question what I did wrong, again. Because after being consecutively left in the dirt, you can’t help but think that you are the problem.
Because drunk people don’t need stairs. Or ribs.
he is a god among men
OMG
i know I reblogged this earlier but the first one was cropped ahahaha
Following this blog may be the greatest thing you have ever done
[Flash 10 is required to watch video]
For anon.
Dug deep into the depths of my archive for this shit.
omg
D:
Mind fuck..
