|My DeviantART Family *points to you all*|
is my pet dragon and is simply made of awesome
is my cousin who is like my big sister. Love ya one-chan!
is my cousin from prison who lives with me
is...wait, where is she? Oh that's right, she's the creepy person hiding in the fridge. STAY AWAY FROM THE SODA!!!!
Is my mama so I guess my birth certificate lied to me
What's up sunshine. The name is bandgeek, and I will be acting as your favorite little freak. Iam here to rant about music, make some art, and just help people out. I'm all ears for anything. Advise is appriciated, but faving is even better. That's all for now dudes. Cya
Current Residence:About, 30 seconds to mars
Favourite genre of music: Punk, alternative and some old school rock
Favourite style of art: Abstract
Favourite cartoon character: Gir from invader zim
Personal Quote: Music is my high. That's just how it is.
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./____ / … .The True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys ♥
YOU CAN'T RESIST HIM!!!!!!
What I am in stamp form
4 Random Poems The One About KitKats
I need a piece of that kitkat
I need a break
It's a mistake
To do things for to-do-them's sake
And I'd live life-
Husband or wife
With obligations and strife
So turn away
While you may
If there's nothing to make you stay
Bring your phone,
The comforts you've known
And go find a new home
A safe place
An empty space
Vacant of life's bitter distastes
And I'll find what I lacked
Roll the cross of my back
Fuck, I want a kitkat.
lisuje is like- really pretty, guys. I promise
A pale, pretty face
Surrounded by sandy dunes
Real and wild like a typhoon
Watch her hair
Carelessly roll down her back
Watch her skin
Like marble that wouldn't crack
See the graphite
Rubbed on the side of her wrist
See the pencil
Held firmly in her closed fist
Watch her draw
And capture what's actually there
Watch her DA
and Tumblr, if you've time to spare
azuneechan is love. Azuneechan is life.
I'd seduce your pages
Make their kne
Too YoungI'm not ashamed of who I am
I'm not guilty of what I've done
I was a child at the time. I was too god damn young.
Too young to be sexualized
Too young to be harassed
Too young to have the light fade from my eyes that fast.
Because I didn't cater to his lusts
i wasn't a good girlfriend, he said
I was too young, fucking hell. I was young and I was twelve.
I will do anything for those I love
And I was easily abused
And the hardest part was loving those who stepped on you
He said I should have been grateful
That strange men called me sexy
It meant that my value is validated. And I was only thirteen
He said I should be flattered
For all the dick pics sent to me
It meant that my value is validated. And I was still just thirteen.
and I crawled away from that
Until crawling became sprinting
Ran so fast- run away until it's the ground that you're hitting
And now I'm almost 17
And I don't feel like myself
But I never knew who she was- so I guess I can never tell
This is the true story
Of a girl
Scrub scrub scrubScrub. Scrub. Scrub.
How long have I been under the downpour of the shower head? How long has it been since I've seen natural light?
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
The loofah in my tight grasp is gnawing away at the dirt on my skin that's settling there- that I think is there.
I am unclean. I'm filthy. I'm a goddamn mess.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
Scrub away all the grime and the embarrassment- scrub away the late night talks and the searing kisses- scrub the skin raw.
"Everywhere he touched you- he caressed you- they're infected. They're dirty. You're dirty.", I say to myself.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
The water is almost scalding, but it has to be. The searing pain on the flesh reminds of what I am trying to wash away. What's trying to be forgotten.
And there it goes- down the drain. The drops of water- either from the shower head or from the corners of my eyes, they run down the ruined canvas that is my body.
I haven't looked at myself in the mirror for so long- it's almost nauseating to. I'm a mess.
viii.in poetry you are always sure to find
girls with their sad eyes and the
boys grinning, wolf teeth shining ivory;
but what about the stony-eyed ladies with knives up their sleeves,
and the tremor of a man's bottom lip?
what about the boys who cry wolf and the women
who cry war?
what about them?
charlotte.Charlotte’s real beautiful
This time of year
Not just the city
But the girl
The rain washes
Muted colors from
In that tangible form
We all know so well
She cuts her hair shoulder length
And dyes it a fiery hue
Sitting at her street corner
Seeing the wind blow
Well Charlotte’s a girl
Who’s grown a bitter smile
She’s seen enough of the world to know
That the greener grass, the better
And storm clouds in the weather
Keep her dangling like a little puppet show
Charlotte’s got a breezy day
She sits and wonders how to say
That you’re better off in Charlotte all alone
Carolina’s seen better mornings
Than this one
But the falling of leaves
Is like a passing of sighs
Charlotte, in her corner of the world
Fills the air with sweet songs about the stars
That she sees when Charlotte’s skies grown dim
The monotone, colorless landscape
Heavily gives way under her
Nobody’s ever seen nothin’