I was bored so I made some crossover jedi and sith out of other characters.
reblog if you like this
If you’re not making a ‘mess’ then you’re not doing it right.
The Man Who Laughs, 1928.
ahi lo tiene….el origen/inspiración del joker (guasón)
her hair and lips change to the color of your blog
i just wanna see it
oh my god this looks so sick on my blog
DEAR GOD MINE TO!
Sorry, I had to see this.
Everyday is a fight to maintain some semblance of humanity. A fight I fear I’m losing. As the days go on I feel a foreboding sense of detachment; like at any moment it could cascade over me in torrents of unending anger and pain. This crazy life spent with crazy people doing insane things for that precious moment or two of amusement only to feel the guilt for months and years to come. Will this ever end before I break? Will I be strong enough to handle the tides crashing waves in my solitude? Or should I just give up and let it consume me? This path into darkness I’m now on: tho perilously easy: takes a brave soul to wander. For at any moment I could lose my way and be lost. Not that I don’t welcome that. The journey. For I have been lost here before: left to wither and die alone: only to thrive on my inner self. Becoming friends with my demons: my nightmares; the deepest parts of my being: only to laugh in the bewildered faces of the nay sayers as I emerged whole and somehow stronger. For broken I wasn’t: could never be. You can’t break something that was never all together in the first place. As I sit in this darkened room and reflect I begin to see things for what they always were. It’s all been a series of tests: testing my resolve, my desire to find my self. The beatings both physical and mental were strengthening my character while the torturously heinous acts taught me to go numb deep inside. To shut off my emotions in a most methodical of ways. The pain taught me what it truly meant to be alive while the sadness was teaching me self-reliance. No: break me they couldn’t. What sweet vengeance it has been knowing that I was able to accomplish of them what they could not of me. My lack of Benevolence brings little regret as that old friend: that familiar feeling hovers about.
I’ve come home.
For a long time now I’ve felt it. In the wee hours of the night when most are dreaming; I’m laying staring at my ceiling. While sitting in the mid days shining sun where others revel; but I’m lost within myself brooding. At gatherings when everybody is laughing and joking I’m but a facade. I feel it. Even now; as I sit here typing my deepest thoughts; it’s there. Through all the devastating events; all the atrocities it was there being my Savior. Through all the joy and all the happiness my Savior was there waiting: ready to shield me when the inevitable happened. It’s like a miasma permeating everything I come in contact with. This feeling; This overwhelming sensation that is so foreign yet so familiar: is almost lacking somehow in its fulfillment. Yet I feel it still. It’s depth is beyond the comprehension of my vast understanding. The dreadful terror I feel as it washes over me is fleeting at best. For I’ve come to welcome it’s creeping influence. It’s the feeling. The only thing that matters is that I feel it’s tiring embrace again. As the darkness envelops me I shiver and begin to laugh as a single tear runs down my cheek for what is lost.
I feel it.