Anonymous: You're always on the dash, NO ONE CARES

clearly you do.

but that’s none of my business.

you’re a fucking idiot, please do me a favour and piss off. i don’t have the patience or the capacity to fuck with people that care this much about my presence on the dashboard.
by Charles Bukowski (via wordsnquotes)
she was consumed by 2 simple things:
despair, loneliness; and oh 2 more:
youth and beauty.
Marilyn Manson
slutgarden by marilyn manson / i’ll pretend that i want you for what is on the inside, but when i get inside, i’ll just want to get out. i’m your first and last deposit, through sickness and in hell. i’ll never promise you a garden, you’ll just water me down. i can’t believe that you are for real, but i don’t care as long as you’re mine
You Shook Me All Night Long

you shook me all night long by AC/DC / she was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that i ever seen. she had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies, knocking me out with those American thighs. taking more than her share, had me fighting for air, she told me to come but i was already there. ‘cause the walls start shaking, the earth was quaking. my mind was aching, and we were making it

Pour Some Sugar On Me
Def Leppard

pour some sugar on me by def leppard / love is like a bomb, baby, c’mon get it on. livin’ like a lover with a radar phone, lookin’ like a tramp, like a video vamp. demolition woman, can i be your man? razzle ‘n’ a dazzle ‘n’ a flash a little light. television lover, baby, go all night

Off To The Races
Lana Del Ray

off to the races by lana del rey / he doesn’t mind i have a flat broke-down life, in fact he says he thinks it’s what he might like about me, admires me, the way i roll like a rolling stone. likes to watch me in the glass room, bathroom, chateau marmont, slipping on my red dress, putting on my makeup. glass room, perfume, cognac, lilac fumes, says it feels like heaven to him

Portrait of María Hahn (the painter’s wife),Detail; by Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta.

by (via middecember)
I don’t think people love me. They love versions of me I have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. The easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love. Who’s going to love the girl that can’t stop crying? The girl that hurts herself? The girl that is losing control? The girl that is so sad she can’t get out of bed? The girl that keeps pushing everyone away? Who’s going to love the monster in me, who’s going to love me now?
by Vincent van Gogh, Letters (1875-1890)
I am very sad and I feel more miserable than I can say, and I do not know how far I’ve come. I do not know what to do or what to think, but vehemently desire to leave this place. I feel so melancholy.