"You’ve got six people in a fountain at 4:00 in the morning, who are about to embark on a journey, and they just have no idea what’s in store for them.” — Matthew PerryHAPPY 20TH, F.R.I.E.N.D.S!—- September 22nd, 1994 —-
Sext: Pull me into your chest. Inhale me like one of your cigarettes. Savor my taste; soak in my scent. Allow me to leave you gasping for fresh air.
Sext: I’m exhausted. I no longer wish to imagine your hands tracing the contour of my frame. Dominate me. Wake my body from the unconscious wasteland it has become. Please, climb inside of me and plant your presence.
Sext: I thought I was finished with inviting toxins in to taint my bloodstream, but holy shit, one look at you and I wanted to inject you straight into my veins.
Sext: I want to make a home of your lips.
Sext; Kiss me until the only thing I can taste is your name burned into my tongue.
Sext: I’ll look up at you through green eyes and I’ll feel you shake.
Sext: I feel you breathe “fuck” on to my neck and I moan your name into your ear.
Sext: Our bodies pressed against each other could write symphonies. I want to become the song you can’t get out of your head.
Sext: I crave your fingertips on my mouth.
Sext: I’d like to drown in you.
Sext: Touch me. Touch me. Touch me.
Sext: I wouldn’t mind melting into you.
Sext: I bet you feel so good between my thighs.
Love of mine
Some day you will die
But I’ll be close behind
I’ll follow you into the dark
Alexandra Agoston shot by Chris Colls
And all the things we could become
This is the greatest tweet in the history of tweets
The thing that sucks about mental illness is that if you aren’t depressed enough, suicidal enough, bad enough, nobody cares. Nobody cares until you reach their standard, and that standard is when your problem is bad enough to effect them