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obsessedwithskulls:

This would make a great poster in a chiropractor’s office.

http://www.obsessedwithskulls.com/

(via mephiiiisto)

obsessedwithskulls:

This would make a great poster in a chiropractor’s office.
http://www.obsessedwithskulls.com/
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sk1maskr3lap53:

Now all my friends hate me.. Free falling off the ledge I bang heads like Gwen Stacey

sk1maskr3lap53:

Now all my friends hate me.. Free falling off the ledge I bang heads like Gwen Stacey
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(Source: waybad, via 90s90s90s)

escapefromthewreck:
My mind writing things that make me smile

It’s almost every night now. A slow drift, like dry autumn leaves in a gust of wind. This isn’t going to end well, and I dread it almost as much as I am curious to see the climax of my burrowing beast. A slow drift, like a sinking corpse into the depths of bottomless sea. The only thing that makes me human is the biological shell that cloaks the Absence of what my existence appears to be. A..slow…drift, like the grace in a ballerinas transition from second position to third. I can bleed, I can sleep, I can fuck, I can die, I can kill, I can pet a dog, I can color a picture, I can build a house, I can burn one down, I can lie, I can’t however, tell you what any of those things feel like. If I were a child’s toy I would be one that was fully operational with a “batteries not included” stamp on the box… From what I read batteries are a lot like souls. I have never committed to that tap on my shoulder. My whisper in my gut. My soft caressing hunger. Not from fear because fear would indicate someone was behind the wheel of this vacant ship. I am an empty vessel slowly drifting,feeding off the demise of the weak for entertainment. The walls of my Inerds are screaming for me to tickle them and I can now hear the second hand ticking. I am a vapor, I am a mist, visible but barely teetering between the definition of existing or being a completely fictitious persona. A slow drift, like the eyelids of an insomniac…. I have the ability to slowly drift. Drift far enough back into my mind that the actions of my physical self are in no way connected with the voice inside my head. The thoughts that create what you fucking disgusting pigs call a personality and are so eager to love. I can laugh. I can laugh really fucking hard. This is a warning..I want to play. I want to sleep on your grave..

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Where did you find this gringo? The Mumford and sons concert or sum ting

Where did you find this gringo? The Mumford and sons concert or sum ting
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Now all my friends hate me.. Free falling off the ledge I bang heads like Gwen Stacey

Now all my friends hate me.. Free falling off the ledge I bang heads like Gwen Stacey
Mine

I wanna kill everyone in the face twice three hundred and eighty eight days a fucking year

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