isobel
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sugar baby liquid tender fist slit gash knit water blister
suck my shit my toungue loose leaf laundry baby
baby sun hot flower ginger sick sock not pee piss
watch lick on me fuck window linger wreak

oh me, oh my.
my name is nicole
i stalk people
It's all about taking the time.
Chasing after it and the want to see the connections,
the details.
If you want it, you'll get me.
○ c r o t c h c u n t ○
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Anonymous asked: I don't mean to pressure or rush you but pleaseplease post more of your art. I look forward to it and constantly check your blog for more of your creations. ):

Haha aw, it’s no pressure.. and even if it is…. it’s the good lovey kind. I’ve been working on many a thing.. many a different thing.. but I have yet to document them and post them. I have a good-ish amount of them in so-called “storage.” Thank you, silhouetted avatar, for such sweet shared words. I know it’s a given, but I wish you weren’t anonymous.

Daw, some of the best words received are ones without faces.. damn.
Well.. I adore the idea of someone constantly checking my stuffs.. looking for the next thing I’ll post.. cause I do that to so many people… I know what that can feel like :3.

Hmm since you messaged me on this blog I wonder if you follow my “art” blog as well?
Well, just in case you don’t, hurrr it is dahlin’:
http://gashcavity.tumblr.com/

i’ll gladly throw my hands up this time.. and the next.
There’s a big difference between wanting to die and not wanting to live. When you want to die, you at least have a goal. When you don’t want to live, you’re really just empty.
— Marilyn Manson

(Source: lordofthegoats, via picturepurrrfect)

gets me all stirred up
yes come to momma. kisses.
could be

i’ve been getting a little more of my head-space back.
just enough where i’m starting to have dreams again.

completely relevant and an extremely important detail.
poison peachy keen
yeah

sometimes i feel like an empty vessel.
something all used up.
where the people have come and used my being, just used it all up.

like an old worn down sofa left on a los angeles city street corner… to rot in the rain..
(after the people have gotten their naps and their stains and their relaxation.)

in the darkest most self loathing - people loathing moments, that bile strikes up again, curling up my esophagus.. and tries to be uttered into my existence-take two.
tries so hard to be birthed into my reality, even though i’d like to believe the real me knows.. better.

the tough times are tough
and the good times don’t seem to be written about, not as much.. or like how it was in the past.
but i’m aiming for it to be.
i’m aiming to get back to my roots.

sure my flowers have bloomed-have taken the time to sprout-and here they’ve bloomed.. and now they rot.
but i just have to trim those long wilted remnants of excess.. and allow my growth to begin again.
it’s just been winter, i’ve been encased in a winter i have yet to fully let go of. and soon it will be spring again in my— thought to be carcass.. and then my sprung resurrection will quickly catalyze to a beautiful summer.. i can only hope for.
my internal seasons have yet to catch up with Earth’s.
i will never stop growing.
and i will never not have flowers,
it is not in nature.

(Source: gashcavity)

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