Unmotivated Seattle goddess


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You’re a ghost of yourself
You know? This is all you want
To control, devour
Pick all the flowers
Because you have no concerns
Covered in scars and burns
Nothing; I am not nothing
I am real, I am something
Don’t make me a ghost
I know you sit there and boast
As if you were as soulless
As you appear
You’d have to be
People cry
People they try
But you are nothing but a ghost
Pour that drink and toast
To all the wasted time
And those girls you hide from
Short memories
Alone with your problems
I will and I am
Escaping your blank of abundant nothingness
I will be;
I will breathe the air of a truly happy day

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what kind of fuckery is this

a large portion of the Victoria’s Secret Angels are smaller than the smallest band size sold in the store that they are modeling

Unrealistic beauty standards to say the least!

41 notes