I had my boyfriend who smokes use matches for a few days instead of a lighter and record the date and time and whatever he was thinking about while smoking.
It’s funny that he quit smoking a few weeks after this project.
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Maybe I should spend another year up here in my little apartment after all. I’m not sure. No, there’s too much risk with all this smoking crack or whatever next door, and I need to move on. It’s just scary. I am scared. I have to take care of myself and I do not know how things will turn out. No one can look out for me and I have nothing to fall back on. Wouldn’t that part of it terrify you?
don’t let tumblr make you believe that
-smoking is cool
-being a narcissistic bitch is acceptable
-trusting nobody is healthy
-starving yourself will make you beautiful
-hating everybody is okay
- that working hard for grades isn’t worth the time
- that having mental health condition is a perk
- that self harm should be romanticized
- that abusive and codependent relationships are cute
- that not being in a minority makes you any less of a person
I’m not fascinated by people who smile all the time. What I find interesting is the way people look when they are lost in thought, when their face becomes angry or serious, when they bite their lip, the way they glance, the way they look down when they walk, when they are alone and smoking a cigarette, when they smirk, the way they half smile, the way they try and hold back tears, the way when their face says they want to say something but can’t, the way they look at someone they want or love… I love the way people look when they do these things. It’s… beautiful.
PSYCHOLOGY FACT #554
Being lonely is just as bad for your health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.
Read more psychology facts Here
Fuck. It’s ironic how empty I am because
I swear 6 months ago I had the universe inside
of me but I cried the rivers in my bones dry.
The volcanoes in my chest erupted when you told
me you didn’t love me anymore and lava flooded
my body and hardened till I stopped sleeping.
I had stars in my lungs but I burned them
all out with the cigarettes I was smoking
to get you the fuck out of my throat. The
flowers growing at the bottoms of my
stomach are dead. Apparently you
can’t water flowers with vodka.
I had the sky in my veins but it’s
been pretty fucking stormy since I
ripped them open. I had planets
on the tip of my tongue but
the debris from the shattered
remains of “us” have been
crashing into them. I was
everything. And then I met
you and we were everything.
Now you’re fucking some
blonde girl who gets
high all the time and
I’m a fucking
mess.
this is my favorite fucking poem ever ever ever
this is actually so beautiful
“I’m trying to be an artist, but my parents just don’t understand. I showed a painting to my mom, and I was like: ‘Do you like it?’
And she was like: ‘I guess, but why is there a cigarette? Are you smoking now?’
And I was like: ‘No, Mom. The cigarette represents pain.’
And she was like: ‘Did we not love you enough?’”
(Tehran, Iran)
I’m sorry. I know I didn’t do everything right, but can you please stop smoking my heart out.
"Hey can u check if that milk went bad?"
*opens fridge*
*milk has leather jacket on smoking a cigarette*
"It’s bad alright"
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