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bunnyjennyphotos:

olga
9,441 notes
398 notes
katesworld:

MERMAIDS IN DEIA
Photo: Kate Bellm
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katesworld:

SIRENS. DEIA
Photo: Kate Bellm
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katesworld:

UNDERWORLD. DEIA
Photo: Kate Bellm
476,968 notes
breakinq:

following back tons
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"I love you" doesn’t mean a fucking thing if you spit it down the throat of every girl who makes you feel less dead
written by (via dim-dom)

(Source: extrasad, via dakitters)

The other night I called the boy
who use to love me and softened my nails
against my teeth until he said my name.
I’ll do things like that sometimes, just for
the thrill of it. Meanwhile, the current boy says,
‘don’t you have anything else in your wardrobe
besides black?’ Once he told me that I even
smell lonely. Cinnamon rubbed into my wrists,
salt sprinkled at my hairline; this is how I keep
my body mine. This city drags me by my hair,
rips potholes into my stomach. I watch the news
and choke on the list of the dead. I don’t count
the miles but I know the exact distance I am
from home. Sometimes I am jolted awake from
dreams about men who are disguised as wolves.
At seven, my idea of love was my mother singing
patiently to the pear tree in the backyard. Now
I beg for it like a dog at the dinner table nuzzling
your knee, drooling all over your best pair of shoes.
I only wear lipstick when I want my mouth
to be noticed. There is so much that I don’t want
to do anymore and I am running and running.
Sometimes I scale my own body looking for
a window just to see if the light is on.
written by Kristina Haynes, “Honest” (via fleurishes)