Frases tristes y depresivas en inglés

Depresivo en ingles o en español es que no te hayan hecho ni la pole

Iniciado por Siuuu

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Depresivo en ingles o en español es que no te hayan hecho ni la pole

Ubicación: Portugal

nada es tan triste y depresivo como eso

Pues vale.

Gracias, las usaré para cuando vaya a Inglaterra. Seré la alegría de la huerta.

Dank

Ahora a parte de baneados acogemos a emos?

Mierda.

Iniciado por YOURWAIFU

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Pues vale.

Iniciado por Leloroto

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Gracias, las usaré para cuando vaya a Inglaterra. Seré la alegría de la huerta.

Iniciado por Shurhand

El mensaje está oculto porque el usuario está en tu lista de ignorados.

Dank

Iniciado por BiomanAmarillo

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Ahora a parte de baneados acogemos a emos?

Mierda.

Una de dos

-> Foroalegres que no se emocionan por una buena foto triste con una frase deprimente y emotiva
-> Foropaletos que no llegan a inglés de la ESO

Iniciado por Vasyl

El mensaje está oculto porque el usuario está en tu lista de ignorados.

Una de dos

-> Foroalegres que no se emocionan por una buena foto triste con una frase deprimente y emotiva
-> Foropaletos que no llegan a inglés de la ESO

Ojalá mi cesped fuera emo para que se cortara él solo.

Cualquier frase en perfidoalbiones es triste.

Iniciado por Aquinate

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Cualquier frase en perfidoalbiones es triste.

Shur el inglés es uno de los idiomas más bonitos que existen sobre todo para cosas tristes/románticas

Iniciado por Vasyl

El mensaje está oculto porque el usuario está en tu lista de ignorados.

Shur el inglés es uno de los idiomas más bonitos que existen sobre todo para cosas tristes/románticas

Nunca me ha gustado la verdad, veo más bonito el Italiano, el Castellano o el Francés

De todas formas solo suelti bilis anglofoba

Iniciado por Vasyl

El mensaje está oculto porque el usuario está en tu lista de ignorados.

Una de dos

-> Foroalegres que no se emocionan por una buena foto triste con una frase deprimente y emotiva
-> Foropaletos que no llegan a inglés de la ESO

Los emos han pasado de moda (creo que se suicidaron todos). Ahora quedamos los frikis solitarios de toda la vida. No vamos cortándonos por ahí.

Publicaciones posturretras de quinceañera media.

muy malas, yo suelo guardar cosas suicidas y mi selección es pequeña pero buenísima.

Iniciado por kawaii

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muy malas, yo suelo guardar cosas suicidas y mi selección es pequeña pero buenísima.

Comparte con nosotros

El suicidio es buena opción para quien vea algo que te emocione en esas mierdas de frases.

Iniciado por Cagüen10

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Publicaciones posturretras de quinceañera media.

las quinceañeras no son las únicas que se ponen tristes

Sad and depressive phrases

Iniciado por Vasyl

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Comparte con nosotros

más tarde si decido hacerlo te cito

Más penoso que mis poles

Enviado desde mi Orange Daytona mediante Tapatalk

When a monster stopped behaving like a monster, did it stop being a monster? Did it become something else?

But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?









I wonder if killing yourself is the only thing you can control in your entire life, and that’s why it’s a sin. Because you’re beating God at his own game.



The mind of a writer can be a truly terrifying thing. Isolated, neurotic, caffeine addled, crippled by procrastination, consumed by feelings of panic, self-loathing and soul-crushing inadequacy… and that’s on a good day.

No, I’m not ok. But I haven’t been ok since I was 11, maybe 12. I am still here though.
I’m still breathing. For me, sometimes, that will have to be enough

There’s this dream where you die
and they remake you out of old clocks
so you can walk a ticking time bomb of memorial,
begging: savor this second, and this, and this, here: me
here, fading, hold my little hand an hour. Try to feel
me pull away, collapsible, a burning tongue like a sun
on the edge of revolution, how not-heavy light is,
but its absence like gravity, forcing you to bear
the years of stony bones, of burden, of ache
praying for breakthrough, for the small kid
who outgrew the playground, who joined
his father’s shadow on the battlefield
and enlarged into the mass of night
biting bullets like stars by men lost
for direction, clutching, quivering,
and ticking their long, long way home.

It’s true, I am afraid of dying. I am afraid of the world moving forward without me, of my absence going unnoticed, or worse, being some natural force propelling life on. Is it selfish? Am I such a bad person for dreaming of a world that ends when I do? I don’t mean the world ending with respect to me, but every set of eyes closing with mine.

Six hundred and forty fish later, the only thing I know is everything you love will die. The first time you meet someone special, you can count on them one day being dead and in the ground.

About death:
When I think about death
I think of my uncle in his deathbed at forty one
With abnormal cells growing in his lungs quickly
I still remember his last words quoting Terminator
“Hasta la vista, baby”
The black casket appeared in the morning
A confusing crowd of black ties, dresses, tuxes, shoes, heels and veils
My nanny told me he had died with subtle words
That never made amends with the pain I felt
His death will always be the natural toll of things
It was the reason I never tried a smoke until thirteen
But then death came in unprecedented ways
And I understood that death with causal explanations
Was sweet, like the addiction to cigarettes
Cancer is never sweet but sometimes it’s expected
Like my uncle inhaling twenty smokes a day
Not like abnormal cells crawling in the skin of a child
With not an inch of smoke or experience in his mouth
And then again the tragic death of the house painter
Who died bleeding in his car this Saturday at thirty two
He had three children and a wife
And I swore I saw him once in my life
But it still hurt because I wondered
Why couldn’t he have been just be a lonely house painter?
Now his family is penniless, fatherless, husbandless
With a casket by their side just like my uncle’s
When I think about death I think about worms
What it must be like to have them chew on your body
Until you’re only bone
But then again, you could also just burn
Your body’s not yours anyway
So turn into ash and have the tiniest pieces of you
Deteriorate into the ocean waves you used to love
And blow into the trees you used to climb
When I think about death
I think of caskets, urns and graves
Crying mothers, lovers, kids
I think about mortality and existence
Cars crashing, blood flowing, diseases catching
When I think about death
I think of the
Nothingness, ageless face of life
The Big Bang, time, constellations
The never ending expansion of the universe
I think about death.

My brother killed himself
on the twenty-eighth Thursday of last year
and I missed four days of work
and my mom wanted to know ‘Why’.
My brother
he was always a fan of beauty
but what he did
was not beautiful at all.

And last week I got the news
that one of my good friends from high school
had overdosed
(again)
except this time
she’d gone too far
and now she was gone.
And I had a hard time falling asleep at night
and her mother
hugged me tight
and thanked me for coming to the service
but I did not
want to be there at all.
This is not
beautiful.

The girl down the street
would’ve turned 21 last year
and I can scarcely imagine
the wild times she would’ve
(should’ve)
had.
But she is buried six feet deep
after falling nearly 300
and she did not leave a note.
This is not
beautiful.

My freshman year of college
and my roommate was beautiful
and how I wanted to be just like her.
But she wore herself down
till she was
almost invisible
and if you blinked
you had to go and find her all over again.
So now her parents are no longer supporting her college tuition
but are paying her hospital bills
watching their daughter crumble.
This is not
beautiful.

So y’all can take your narcissistic
romanticizing
and glamorizing
of self harm and eating disorders and committing suicide
and shove them as far up your ass
as you possibly can.
Starvation is not beautiful.
Killing yourself is not beautiful.
Sadness
is not beautiful.
This note I am writing
is not beautiful.

But you
you are beautiful
and it’s about damn time you start believing it.




Love isn’t soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close.

Para todos los deprimidos, negativos, tristes o que están sufriendo por amor, os comparto un puñado de frases de dolor desde Frasess. Eso sí, no están en inglés, aunque creo que podéis traducirlas vosotros mismos si os hace ilu. Hala, a sufrir con el corazón.

Iniciado por cachalete

El mensaje está oculto porque el usuario está en tu lista de ignorados.

Para todos los deprimidos, negativos, tristes o que están sufriendo por amor, os comparto un puñado de frases de dolor desde Frasess. Eso sí, no están en inglés, aunque creo que podéis traducirlas vosotros mismos si os hace ilu. Hala, a sufrir con el corazón.

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my dick is bigg cuz im a crazy nigga