Love will be the death of me.
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Ceferina Grace. 22. PNW.
Tattoo Artist. Lover. Heart taker.
→ I smell fear and clinch my fists: Oh, you got a face tattoo?

tri-b:

i-3boobs:

Please. Tell me how successful you’re going to be in the future when no company will take you on because you look a fucking moron.

Where do you think they got the money for their tattoos? Tattoos aren’t cheap! “success” is not measured by corporate acceptance. Life is…

I work for a fortune 200 company. The gm in Chicago has face tattoos. Suck it.

Today is our 3 year anniversary. I love you, Nate.
Well.

After a night of almost getting in a fist fight with a girl who repeatedly called me an anorexic bitch, getting slapped by some fucking faggot (& yes I am using this word in a derogatory way. Suck my fucking nuts.) name James Jacob Beltran. Who, by the way, will get his ass beat soon….
I am so fucking done. I did nothing tonight but try to have fun. I’m fucking done with this scene and everyone in it. Mess with me & I promise a well, thought out plan to destroy your life.

seizeexistence: that’s why artists are often looked down upon. Because they managed what everybody wants but few can… They managed to keep the inner child alive. Truth :/
New goal.

Work.
Work out.
Spend time with girls.
Get thin.
Move somewhere else.

Did you know?

Sleeping alone sucks.

This apartment will most likely belong to soon-to-be married couple.

Too bad that is exactly what I wished happened here. For me.

Dreams can be dreamt, however it takes many people for dreams to come true.

In this case, many of my dreams are past me already.

It’s time to focus on what I want. It’s time to just think of me now.
Plan? Work myself to death this summer so I can go to school. Hopefully, in two years, I can get the fuck out of here.

It’s funny, really. Literature, a mass of words chosen ever so carefully, can move you to feel again. Tonight I realized that finding healing. Finding peace… It isn’t something that happens. It’s not a lightbulb or a significant moment. It isn’t a turnaround of every thought it your head. It’s a tired, weary swim against the current. A tiny, fragile body trashing violently against the tide. You push yourself to the limit of progress only to tire and drift closer to shore. You watch as the waves draw you out further from that horizon you are trying to reach. And yet somewhere in your defeat, you find enough physical rest to try again. Right before your toes find the bottom, your legs and arms pick up pace again. Suddenly you’re swimming harder than you ever have. As time goes on, this battle you wage between your fragile body and the vast expanse of the sea becomes a little easier. Your body tones and strengthens. Every rest builds a new muscle. Years later you find yourself looking back at how many miles you’ve traveled since the last time the tide got the best of you. At this point, my faith resides in making that shore just a memory. An opposite horizon I can no longer see. But until then. A little further, more rest.

callmenighthawk:

findingpadfoot:

I saw this quote floating around last night, and i’m still having trouble with whether or not it’s real.

thievesnest: Charles Schenk
Body modification has been practiced longer than Christianity. I don’t believe the term ‘fad’ is really relevant.
Jared Karnes, Onetribe founder (via sowouldvei)

(via sinking-ships)

Today is my parents 27th wedding anniversary.

My mom is reading on the couch.
My dad is on the computer.

Nothing but a mutual “Happy Anniversary”.


There are times I am reminded of how much I NEVER want to be married.
Yet something inside still wants it. Ugh.

sleepy
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