(Source: 500daysofshame, via mama-finland)

themrcreepypasta:

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been three years since my last

confession. My sin is murder.”

It was the toughest thing I had done in the three years since that awful night. But 

it was time. I could no longer carry the weight of what I had done and I had made the 

decision to make things right, with both myself and with God.

“Please, tell me about your sins,” the elderly and kind voice spoke to me through 

the partition.

I remembered back to my childhood and to the Sunday visits to our church, to 

how I couldn’t understand how my parents could sit there and listen to the preacher but 

ignore what was taking place in his office. They had to have known; parents are supposed 

to know when something is wrong with their child, right?

But they hadn’t, and the visits continued for many years. It wasn’t until my 14th

birthday that the visits stopped. The church said that the preacher had moved on to study 

in South America. That he had wanted to thank the church members for listening and for 

our devotion to God, and to apologize for leaving so quickly without goodbyes. The more 

likely reason, though, was that the church had found out.

I took a deep breath.

(via eeriie)

(Source: you-dont-know-what-to-think)

giffreak:

Yes, his arm sprouted legs and crawled away.

(via marching-pigs)

(via marching-pigs)

(Source: sanitycollective)

(Source: dirty-blood-baby)

(Source: et1013)