who, me?

the name's MK. I'm seventeen and I hate driving.
I love music, photography, reading, and graphic design-y stuff.
I play a few sports.
I suck at life.
I like speaking in short sentences.
I'm very sarcastic.
I adore Fight Club (the book beats the movie).
It pisses me off when people don't use proper grammar: hay is for horses, no is not a verb, dam is what beavers live in, them is not an adjective, and wit is clearly something you lack.
a Q is a Q and a G is a G. Use them interchangeably and I might have to slap you.
Contrary to my facade, I'm actually pretty friendly. In fact, I care too much. If you feel the need to know more about me, ask me shit. I'll answer just about anything.
Au revoir :D
This one’s for you, Violet!

This one’s for you, Violet!

I felt like such a badass [: I’m way too excited over this. Not bad for only about an hour of sleep!

I felt like such a badass [: I’m way too excited over this. Not bad for only about an hour of sleep!

dalailamaofficial:

have you ever thought about the fact that like 6 people died because romeo couldn’t control his dick 

THIS.

(via capnamerikirk)

"Don’t tell me to reach for the stars when there are footprints on the moon" …uh, pretty sure that the moon’s closer than any star out there. Jussayin’.

"Don’t tell me to reach for the stars when there are footprints on the moon" …uh, pretty sure that the moon’s closer than any star out there. Jussayin’.

The less schoolwork I have, the more pictures I get to take and do shit with. FIVE MORE DAYS; I CAN DO THIS.

The less schoolwork I have, the more pictures I get to take and do shit with. FIVE MORE DAYS; I CAN DO THIS.

No one’s actually going to read this.

That’s why I’m posting it.
I just need to get this out: I’m absolutely disgusted with myself in every imaginable way. I hate what I’ve turned into and the fact that I have absolutely no control over it. Whenever I look in the mirror, I desperately want to just punch myself in the face as hard as I can. I never do, though, ‘cause I’m too much of a stupid, sonofabitching wimp.
I remember when I used to actually care about stuff. I had opinions. I was only exhausted when I went to bed later than normal. I was optimistic. I never cried. I was strong; mentally, I was a sonofabitching tank. I wouldn’t have a breakdown every time I tried to think of something I was proud of. I never, in my wildest dreams, would even imagine wanting to intentionally hurt myself. But here I am, wishing I could be someone else for a day just to beat the shit out of me.
What in all fucking hell happened?