Look at me and tell me you don’t feel anything. See me smiling and tell me it doesn’t hurt. Know I’m not writing about you and tell me you’re still the same person you were a moment ago. Go ahead. You can tell me what you want because I’ll know what you mean. That’s the thing about a person who used to love you. They get in your head, take off their shoes and get comfortable. Tell me you don’t miss me. You do.

Bullshit, you fucking miss me by k.p.k

(via towritepoems)
I loved you harder than the storms in the south, and softer than the snow in the north. But I, I am not soft. I am skinned knees and bloodshot eyes. And it’s people like me whose bones crumble under love’s touch.
broken people, e.m (via regr0wn)

Ill always love you. on We Heart It
People with ash sunken beneath their fingernails and cigarette packs tucked in their back pockets will tell you that it’s easier to smoke than quit. 
I think it’s like the way that his fingers felt numb until they curled themselves around the handle of a knife. 
And I think the comfort in the taste of a cigarette in a smoker’s mouth was the same as the taste of blood and steel edges in his.
When they tell you, “It’s an addiction” (via because-she-loves-words)