Little poem I'm working on
Save me a fetus and abandon the baby,
Ignore all the rape then belittle the ladies,
We need people to fill up our prison systems,
We need a bigger army and desperate souls to enlist them

Love Begins
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Show & Tell
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Not today Justin
Keni

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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
almost home
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@cannibalnector-blog
Little poem I'm working on
Save me a fetus and abandon the baby,
Ignore all the rape then belittle the ladies,
We need people to fill up our prison systems,
We need a bigger army and desperate souls to enlist them

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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It's not really a secret that I've been struggling more than usual dealing with my depression. While my depression is still going very strong at the moment, I can tell allot of my friends are dealing with theirs as well, so I thought I'd share the couple of things that are helping me pick myself back up.
1. Talking to people. I know it sounds really simple and self explanatory, but I've allowed my depression to get me to isolate myself for a long time. It's been years since I truly confided in someone, and I still have allot of opening up to do, but I've started talking again, and it's been helping.
2. Chores around the house. When you slip into a funk it's easy to become couch locked. But if you do a little laundry, wash some dishes, take the trash out, no matter how small the house chore is, knowing you completed a task, and did something with yourself helps your mood.
3. Setting goals. I set 2 goals for myself. I've been actively working towards them, and just working towards something helps your self esteem, and helps diminish that "useless" feeling that often accompanies being depressed. That and goals are just important.
I know these 3 things seem small, but starting to talk, doing house chores, and setting and working towards goals has really been helping me, and even gave me back my smile that had been missing for months. I still have allot of work to do to put my depression back in its place, but for the first time since December I finally feel like I'm on the right path. Hopefully these 3 things will help someone else. Much love everybody
The House of Horror
16-year-old Sylvia Likens was the daughter of two carnival workers. Her parents separated, and her mother, Betty, was incarcerated for shoplifting. As a result, Sylvia and her sister, Jenny, were sent to live with GertrudeΒ Baniszwewski and her family, paying them $20 to take care of the two girls. When the payments were late, Baniszwewski would turn on the girls, particularly Sylvia. She would hit the girls with paddles. Being fragile and asthmatic herself,Β Baniszwewski recruited her children and neighbourhood children to subject Sylvia to horrendous abuse over the period of three months. This abuse included putting cigarettes out on her skin, burning her with scalding water, beating her, rubbing salt in her wounds, forcing her to eat things which would cause her to vomit and on at least two occasions, she was raped with a Coca-Cola bottle. On one occasion, a neighbourhood boy, Coy Hubbard, used her to practice his judo, which as a result, caused her to become incontinent. Baniszwewski responded to this by forcing her to eat her own faeces as well as her 1-year-old sons. Jenny, Sylviaβs sister attempted to get help and contacted their older sister, Diana, who came to the house yet did nothing to help.Β
Shortly before her death, Baniszewski took a hot needle and carvedΒ βIβm a prostitute and proud of it!β on Sylviaβs stomach. A neighbourhood boy, Richard Hobbs, helped. He also helped 10-year-old Shirley Baniszewski burn the number β3β into her chest with an iron poker. The night before Sylvia died, she attempted to escape the house of horrors. She was caught by Baniszewski who threw her down the stairs into the cellar which had become her home. The next day, on October 26, 1965, Sylviaβs body gave up after the countless beatings, burnings, rapes, and lack of food and water. She died of a brain haemorrhage, shock, and malnutrition. She had suffered unimaginable torment. Her body was covered in wounds, bruises, and burns. In her final moments, she had almost completely severed her lips with her teeth from the beatings.Β
Gertrude received a life sentence while the younger assailants received petty sentences and were all released and went on to lead normal lives, something Sylvia could never do. Disgustingly enough, Gertrude was released for good behaviour after just a measly fourteen years in prison.
Story inspiration
I don't trust voting in a booth in secrecy. That leaves room for dishonesty amongst the corrupt hierarchy. I want to see people stand for what they believe cause its what they feel and not an order they were given. I want to see people's beliefs and views shaken and emerge stronger. I want to see passion in what your using your voice for. I want rallys, I want protests, I want boycotts. I want to see people stand up for what they believe instead of being lazy vomiting opinions on social media. Why is it we all agree that the 1% are making profit off of extorting and targeting minorities, yet nothing has changed. Why is it we all agree that flint Michigan deserves clean water, but nothing has happened. Social media may have made it easier to share your voice but it took away the impact. The 1% are using the common white person (that are referred to as "trash") to absorb all the blame for their racism, and systematically keeping us divided and our eyesight away from them. I mean overall, we all want the same thing, justice, safety, security, the pursuit of happiness, and freedom. We just have different ideas on how to get there. So how is it that a country that more or less is fighting for the same core things, is at turmoil with each other?
In the USA having white flesh has become a synonym for racism. And here I am having to tell people that I'm racist but the only race I hate is the human race

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I'm sitting with a mind full of suicide, a smile on my face, and tears in my eyes while I try to glue my ashes back together
What I hope my son knows
I'm sorry about me and your mother
It breaks my heart that I couldn't love her
I don't know how it happened
But she felt abandoned
And I felt smothered
We just grew apart from each other
Things that are pretty are always kept behind glass, someone like me, someone like me can't make it last, I like you damaged but I need something left, something for me, something for me to wreck
Threats of romance
I am unable to describe exactly what is the matter with me, now and then there are horrible fits of anxiety, apparently without cause, or otherwise a feeling of emptiness and fatigue in the head.
Vincent van Gogh, in a letter to his sister, Wil. (via apocryphalstories)
Writing
The one thing I love about writing, is I have a spot to channel all my negativity and evil. And it allows me to be a positive person everywhere else. I'm 25 and never been in a fight cause I was able to channel rusty anger into something positive. I've been able to kill myself, overdose, do drugs, murder, and a bunch of other unspeakable things and do it in a healthy art form. I don't know where I'd be if I couldn't write

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Love this picture
Bus thoughts
I'm on a route I take everyday, sitting in this Petri dish on wheels. Looking at the rest of the mold sitting in silence and solitude. We all crave interaction, and meeting new and exciting people, but were so closed off to actually achieving this. That would mean being social, and its only rewarding to be social in the media. While its what we want we keep it on the list of "hopes and dreams" so it can decay with our thoughts and prayers. So many beautiful stories and experience sits around me that will never get told because we've been trained to think it's boring. Systematically educated to believe were nothing. I've long said that the only way to save the world is for humans to go extinct, hopefully mother nature finds her bleach
You just hurt my God damn feeling and that was the last one I had
Marshall Bruce Mathers III
tell us about yourself
I'm nobody. I'm an idea, a state of mind, an empty glass its your choice how you'll fill me up. I'm a blank piece of paper waiting to be painted. I'm the ghost vibrations you feel in your pocket, the voices yelling stop it. I'm beautiful, I'm disgusting, I'm a full library and an empty dinner table. I'm what the blind see and the deaf hear. A collection of vibrations.

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Bulma: You have to pick your battles.
Vegeta: Well Iβm full of rage and Iβm picking all of them.
I am infinitely strange to myself.
John Fowles, The French Lieutenantβs Woman (via the-book-diaries)